


Metaphors

by petrichorish



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichorish/pseuds/petrichorish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Sam had been reminded that their half-brother Adam was still in the cage with Lucifer and Michael, he had been nagging Dean about it. But there was nothing they could possibly do for him, was there?  Having to deal with the Mark of Cain only added complications and Cas' grace was fading by the second.<br/>They had reached an impasse - nowhere to go.<br/>On a job in New York, however, a taciturn taxi driver introduces them to a man, claiming himself a Master of the Dark Arts and Sam sees in him their chance to fix all of their problems.<br/>As it turns out, though, none of their problems are as easy to fix as they thought and their new acquaintance is anything but a team player.</p><p>And for hell's sake, that guy is just as irritating as he is intriguing!<br/>So, is Dean really to blame for falling for the Hellblazer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something's Coming

"Do we have anything else left to eat except for all this rabbit food?" Dean let the door of the fridge swing closed only to open it again a couple seconds later to pull out a bottle of beer.

“That 'rabbit food', as you call it, is healthy. And I'd choose it over take-out food any day.” Sam said absently, as he scrolled through a website on his laptop. “Eat a sandwich or something.”

Dean rolled his eyes, careful not to let Sam see it but Sam was fully concentrated on his research. Just like he had been for every free minute of the last three days. If he was honest, Dean wasn't even sure whether Sam had been sleeping. Whenever Dean woke up in the morning, Sam was already in the main room of the bunker, either studying the lore or doing research on his laptop.

"What are you looking up anyways?"

"Ways to bring a person back from hell."

Dean's grip on his beer bottle got a bit tighter. "Sam, you gotta let this go. We can't help Adam."

"We haven't even  _tried_ , Dean. So, excuse me for feeling guilty about leaving my--my brother down there in the cage."

"Yeah. The cage. You know what that place did to you, right? You remember how damaged your soul was? Adam has been down there for almost  _five_  years now. He's beyond saving."

"I refuse to believe that."

"Fine." Dean said, gritting his teeth and walked out of the kitchen, taking his beer with him. Only to run straight into Cas, who actually swayed and stumbled at their impact. "Hey, hey, easy, man." Dean held the angel upright until Cas regained his balance. "Are you alright?"

"I'm good. I just might need some more rest." Cas' voice was even more gruff than usual.

Dean placed his beer bottle on the ground next to the kitchen door. "How about I bring you back to your room? You really shouldn't be running around all day."

The angel cleared his throat. "I want to help you and Sam, though. I can still hear the other angels. I will know, if something happens and I can help you deal with the Mark of Cain. Maybe I can find an angel who knows something."

Dean took Cas' arm and began leading him down the hallway. "Look, Cas, I appreciate that you want to help. But to be honest, you need help just as much as I do. Hell, you even need it more than I do. And I'm not gonna watch you sacrifice yourself for my sake."

"I feel like it's my time, though. I have done so much wrong. If this is my chance to make things right, I want to take it. I don't care what it means for me."

"But I care, Cas." The words weren't as loud as they were supposed to be. There was a lump in Dean's throat that made it difficult to talk about this with Cas. Or anyone really. He didn't know where these feelings came from but for him Cas was something more. Something more than family. And he needed him. He had told Cas exactly that at some point. It had changed their relationship in a way that was neither good nor bad. It just changed. Now every look felt like there was a message hidden in it. Every touch seemed to mean something more. It wasn't awkward. It was just there between them and neither one of them dared to point it out.

And then Dean just kept asking himself how one could even fall in love with an angel.

They reached the door of the room Cas usually stayed in when he was at the bunker lately. Before, he never needed a room because Cas never used to need sleep. But now sleep seemed to be all he ever did. And Dean worried. And he wondered why Sam wasn't worrying about it more. No, instead his brother was suddenly obsessed with helping Adam.

He banned these thoughts from his head and pushed the door open and slowly helped Cas over to the bed. The angel all but fell down on the mattress. Dean was sure his face showed his worry but he couldn't care less. It took him some willpower, though, to sit down on the side of the bed instead of just leaving the room.

"So, can you, um, tune your angel radio on unusual activity? Like, angels gathering some place where something big is going down?"

"I'm afraid it's not that specific. But I'll do my best to find something." 

Cas closed his eyes and he frowned in concentration. Dean could see his eyes moving behind his eyelids and he watched as Cas' lips moved every now and then as he quietly repeated words he heard. When he opened his eyes, he seemed even more worn out than before and Dean cursed himself for asking Cas to do this.

"There's a lot going on. Everywhere, so it seems. There are angels in Nevada and Washington and several angels are searching all over the place for a way back to heaven while others are on the run. They don't want to go back to heaven. They've taken a liking in living a human life. Some are hiding in the bigger cities, Chicago and San Francisco. Some angels are fleeing New York as someone is on his way there, an angel accompanying him. I don't know who but apparently he means bad news." Cas shrugged as much as he could in his lying position on the bed.

"Thank you, Cas. Now please get some rest. We'll figure this all out. And we'll get you back on your feet." For a moment he was tempted to take Cas' hand but then decided against it. "Get better." 

Cas just hummed out a 'yeah' before drifting off to sleep and Dean got up slowly, leaving the room as quietly as possible and making his way back through the halls towards the kitchen where he had left Sam. However, Sam had apparently left the kitchen as well. He picked up the beer where he had left it and closed the kitchen door with an audible 'thump'.

He found Sam, who was now sitting in the main room of the bunker, looking through a book and a website at the same time.

"How do you feel about going to New York?" Sam said as he noticed Dean but kept staring at the screen of the laptop.

Dean slowed down as he walked up the table. Hadn't Cas just mentioned something going down in New York? Angels on the run from someone coming to the city. "What's in New York?

“It might be a case. It might also be a simple serial killer.”

“Wow. How low have we sunk that we call a serial killer 'simple'?” Sam was about to answer but Dean waved his hand to shut him up. “Rhetorical question, Sammy. What have you got on that case?” Dean asked, taking a sip from his bottle.

“Not much. It's all pretty vague. But get this: All of the victims look like they've been attacked by some kind of animal. They were mauled to death. But at none of the crime scenes was any trace of an animal. No prints, no fur, no DNA that could belong to a dog or anything.” Sam looked up from his laptop to give Dean a significant nod.

“You're thinking that these could be the victims of Hellhounds?” Dean suggested. He wondered whether he should tell Sam about what Cas had just told him. If he did, Sam would insist on going. And Dean wouldn't fight him. They somehow had this fucked-up hero-complex. 

“What else could it be?”

“Well, if they are, we're dealing with a crossroads demon. In a city as big as New York, it's gonna be quite hard finding a specific demon. And then again, these people making deals with demons kind of brought it upon themselves.”

Sam ignored Dean's last words and shrugged. “It might be worth a shot. We could prevent more deaths and at the same time we might be able to talk to a demon and get some information about the Mark.” He paused, then continued anyways. “Or we just talk to Crowley. He might know something—”

“We not talking to Crowley. He's the reason I have the damn thing in the first place. And he already let us know that he doesn't know anything.”

“And you don't think he's lying?”

Dean didn't answer right away. Instead he bit his lip, thinking, before carefully choosing his words. “Whether he's lying or not, I don't want anything to do with him anymore. If I ever get the chance I'm ending that son of a bitch.  _If_ he knows something about the Mark, then he's surely not the only one.”

"Alright, alright. No Crowley." Sam agreed and closed his laptop. "So, are we going to New York?"

"That's, like, a twenty-two hour road trip." Dean pointed out.

"So? We've had longer trips."

"True." Dean agreed and finished his beer. "Besides, I can get us there in less twenty hours." 

Sam shook his head at Dean's wide grin. "Just pack your stuff. And put Cas in the backseat. I'm not leaving him here."

Dean's grin faded a little. The thought of Cas having to endure a trip like that was nagging him. But Sam was right, they couldn't leave him here. And hey, it seemed liked Sam cared about Cas after all.

* * *

 

The trip was mostly quiet. Road trips like these always were. Cas was asleep in the backseat for about two thirds of the entire ride and Sam fell asleep every now and then as well. Whenever he woke up, they exchanged a couple of words, Sam always offering to drive for a while but Dean refused. He didn't want to sleep. He wanted time to think.

Certain questions kept running through his head lately. _How can I get rid of the Mark? How do I make Crowley suffer for what he did? How do I fix the fact that I forgot Adam in hell? How do I fix Cas?_

The situation seemed rather hopeless, didn't it?

Hopefully the case they were about to take on in New York would be a distraction, maybe it would take his mind off of all the problems they had and it better not add any new ones. 

They reached New York in a little under twenty-one hours.  Finding cheap motels in the city proved to be rather difficult and they spent almost another two hours asking around for a place to stay. In the end they settled in a motel in the Bronx.  It wasn't exactly the nicest place but it would be enough for them and it didn't cost a fortune they didn't have.

Cas only woke up when Dean shook his shoulder. He blinked into the light of the neon lights of the motel, seemingly disorientated for several moments.

"Come on, buddy. You can carry on sleeping inside. On an actual bed."

Cas made a noise that sounded like he was agreeing and Dean decided to simply take it as a 'yes'. Cas didn't seem to be able to hold a conversation right now, anyway, so it was better to let it be. 

Inside, Sam dropped their bags in the corner of the room and set up his laptop immediately. Neither of them ever really bothered to unpack their things when staying in a motel. They never stayed long. Their only home was the bunker right now. If you could call it that.

"So," Sam said as he opened up a couple of windows on the screen. A missing person's report. Several newspaper articles. An autopsy report. Dean didn't even want to know how Sam had gotten his hands on that one. "There are several cases of people going missing and a few others where a husband or wife gets murdered and the remaining party has either no alibi or doesn't want to say where they've been at the time of murder. The bodies all show claw and bite marks. So, I'm thinking Hellhounds. Another pattern is that in every case there's one person awkwardly denying knowing anything." Sam raised his eyebrows at this. "And those, of course, are the main suspects. Even in the missing person cases."

"Are we gonna check any of them out? Can we get close to them? Talk to them?"

"We might be able to talk to people with missing persons. The murder suspects are gonna be harder to get close to." 

Dean shrugged. "If they've all done the same thing, which would be selling their soul to some demon, it doesn't matter who we talk to. Maybe they can point us in the general direction of the bastard."

Sam gave Dean a wary once-over. "You sure you're up to going after a demon?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Sam, the only thing I want to do is get rid of as many demons as possible."

"Alright, okay. We'll go and talk to this guy, Lewis Jameson. His wife went missing a week ago and he refuses to tell the police about where he was, when she disappeared." He closed the laptop. "Suit up. He works for a bank. High society and all that crap."

 

As they pulled up to the house, they were instantly stopped by a front gate and an intercom. "Friggin' rich guys.." Dean muttered but put on a sort of nice voice anyways, when he talked to whoever it was on the other end. The gate opened as soon as he mentioned FBI and the drove down the driveway, Sam pulling the fake IDs out of the glove compartment.

They were led into the dining room by a young woman with a Mexican accent, who left just as quickly as she had appeared at the door. There, a man in suit, obviously much more expensive looking than their own, welcomed them.

"Good evening, agents. I wasn't really expecting the police to come around again. I thought they had everything they needed." 

"Oh, they do." Dean assured. "But me and my partner would still like to ask a few questions."

"May I ask why the FBI is involved in this?" Jameson offered them to sit while nervously fidgeting with his hands.

Sam cleared his throat. "It just--there's been several missing persons in the area and we are looking for a connection between these cases that the police might have missed."

"I see. So, how can I help?"

"Why don't you talk about what happened before your wife went missing? Did she have any problems in her social surroundings? Did you have an argument? Or were there maybe any signs of depression?" Sam asked these questions playing his part quite well. He sounded professional. Which was more than Dean could say about himself.

"Well, I don't think my wife was depressed. And she had a lot of friends, so I can't really say whether there have been any fall outs. No, it was a normal day. She'd been talking lots in the morning, like usual. I went to work and then--I got home and she wasn't there."

Dean gave Sam a significant look. The pause in his sentence had just been a little bit too long. Sam didn't seem convinced, either. "Mr Jameson, does it bother you, when your wife talks?"

The man looked back at Sam, now quite irritated. "What? Why would you--? No, it doesn't?"

"Then why did that just sound like a question?" Dean asked and sat up a bit straighter. "See, the way I see it, Mr Jameson, you and your wife weren't on the best terms. You were annoyed by her constant talking and generally bored by your relationship."

_"What?!"_

"Yes. And then you decided to take it a bit too far. You made a deal and sold your soul just to get rid of her. Sound about right?"

Mr Jameson was stunned. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally said something. "I didn't want to get rid of her."

"Why don't you just tell us the whole story?" Sam proposed. "Tell us what happened on the night your wife disappeared."

"I went to a bar after work. Lower East Manhattan, called 'Old Man Hustle'. I just wanted to get a drink and putt off going home for a few more hours. And this guy sits next to me, starts talking to me and I end up telling him how--unhappy I was. And he... he..."

"He offers you a deal. Your soul in exchange for him dealing with your problems." Sam concludes.

Jameson was pretty much on the verge of breaking down at this point. "What did that guy do to her?"

"For all we know, she's probably dead." Dean said, earning a reprimanding glance from Sam. "Or not. Who knows, right?" 

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to Jameson again. "Can you remember what the exact deal was?"

"Well, not really. It wasn't even-- there was no handshake on it. Why do you keep calling it a deal? What did he get from me?" 

"Your soul. You made a deal with a demon."

"I did  _what?"_

"Yes. Just--did he kiss you?" Dean asked, being sort of straight-forward.

"No!"

"Then how did he seal the deal?" Dean wondered, this time directing his question to Sam, who simply shrugged.

"Did you offer anything in exchange?"

Jameson shook his head but then suddenly froze. "I--I guess, I said something along the lines of 'Whatever you want in return, you can have it. I don't care how you do it, just do it.' But I never thought he was being serious."

"Well, he was. He took your soul and got rid of your problem. Now at some point he's gonna come back to collect his reward. You probably have one to ten years until the Hellhounds will come get you, too." Dean deadpanned. "Now excuse us, sir, but we are gonna head out to find that son of a bitch. Pray that we'll be able to save you."

"Where's 'Old Man Hustle'?" Sam asked and stood up.

"Essex Street. 39 Essex Street." Jameson stuttered.

"Thank you, sir. Good evening."

And with that they exited the room, leaving behind a very confused, irritated and scared Lewis Jameson.

* * *

 

"Guys like him are the perfect  prey for those demons." Dean parked the Impala a block from where the bar was supposed to be and they walked down Essex Street as night fell. "I mean, he pretty much offered that demon everything he wanted. Without even thinking twice about it."

"Yeah, but I still don't get how they sealed the deal. And obviously it's not a crossroads demon, either. That demon came to Jameson and not the other way around." A crease was showing on Sam's forehead as he thought. "They didn't kiss. All Jameson said was 'do it'. So, how did he sell his soul?"

"Does it really matter? Can't we just find that bastard and torture him until he lets these people out of their deals?"

"Well, if anyone's torturing demons, it will be me and not you." Sam said with emphasis. "You're in no state to do anything the like."

_"Fine."_

"Hey", Sam stopped walking. "There it is. 'Old Man Hustle'."

The bar was quite crowded. Which bar wouldn't be on a Friday night? Sam and Dean decided to sit down in a booth to observe the crowd for a while, which wasn't exactly the easiest task. It was loud, people came and left and no one seemed overly suspicious.

Well, that was until Dean noticed a man sitting at the bar, his drink in front of him, not talking to anyone and not drinking, either. He was a big guy with a beard, wearing a plaid shirt and a sort of peaked cap. He wasn't the one that seemed suspicious, though. 

No, it was the blonde man in the beige trench coat leaning against the bar with only a couple inches of space between himself and the man with his drink. He was talking to him, seemed insistent and kept looking around, observing the people around them.

Dean elbowed Sam in the side and nodded over to the two men at the bar. Sam silently agreed that this was most likely their guy but when Dean stood up, Sam grabbed his arm. "We can't cause a scene. Not in here. Not in front of all these people."

"We won't. We don't have to show him that we know what he's doing. We just want to stop him."

"Alright." Sam seemed to hesitate but he followed Dean towards the bar through the crowd of people. Until Dean stopped and Sam ran into him. "What?"

"He's gone." Dean looked around frantically. "Shit. He's gone." He was. The man in the trench coat wasn't anywhere to be seen. Only the bigger guy was still sitting at the bar, staring into his drink.

Sam cursed under his breath. "Let's at least  talk to the guy. Maybe he can tell us something useful."

They walked up the man and Dean leaned against the bar just like the man in the trench coat had done it before him. "Hey there." The man looked up from his drink. "Do you mind if I ask who the guy was, who was just here with you?"

"Why would you want to know?"

"Oh, just... curiosity."

"Yeah, right."

"Humor me. Who was it?"

The man eyed him and Sam very carefully. "He is a friend of mine. Colleague. Partner. Whatever you wanna call it."

"So, you know him?" Sam asked, then.

"Yes, I do. Now what is this about?"

Dean hesitated. "Oh, um. Well, we thought that maybe... um--"

"You thought he's a demon trying to make a deal with me?" That came unexpected. How did this guy know? Was he hunting that demon as well?

"I suppose so. Yeah, that's what we thought." Dean admitted.

The man laughed quietly. "Well, be assured that my friend is not a demon. Though, sometimes he makes you question that."

"Who are you then? Who is he?" Sam demanded to know.

"I'm Chas Chandler. And my friend's name is John." He held out his hand towards Dean. "And yes, we're looking for that demon you wanna catch as well."

Dean gave the man's outstretched hand a quick glance before taking it. "Dean Winchester. My brother Sam." He pointed to Sam.

"Well," a voice behind them made Dean turn around. "I'm shocked you'd think me a demon, luv. 'specially 'cause _you_ really should know the difference, Winchester."

The heavy British accent was accompanied by smug smile and Dean raised his brows at the man. He was only as tall as Dean himself, if not a bit shorter. The tie around his neck was loose and one hand was playing with a lighter as he held the other one out to Dean.

"The name's John Constantine. I doubt you remember me." 


	2. Rumor Has It

Dean ignored the offered hand and instead took a step backwards because that guy was seriously invading his personal space.

“Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?”

Constantine let his hand drop to his side but kept playing with the lighter in his other one. The smirk was ever present on his face. “We met before, Winchester. Twice even. First time, you were just a kid back then.” He looked over at Sam. “And Sammy 'ere, he was even smaller, but I see the tables have turned.”

The man chuckled at his own joke and then, just like that, turned and walked away. Dean couldn't help but stare.

“Is he for real?” He asked Chas with obvious confusion in his voice.

Chas just shrugged. “That's John Constantine for you. Better follow him, though.”

“Why would I follow him?” Dean began arguing but Sam just dragged him along with him towards the exit of the bar. Chas pulled out a couple dollars for his drink, leaving them on the counter before following the two brothers at some distance.

Constantine was waiting outside, leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette between his lips. When they approached him, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew a ring of smoke into the air.

“You've become hunters just like your father, I see.” He sounded like he was having a casual conversation. Which was probably true for him but not for Dean. With every word the man said, Dean got more frustrated with him. Mostly because every word out of his mouth added another question to the pile.

He was just about to ask one but Sam was faster. “You knew our dad?”

“Yeah, the lad came to me years ago, bringing his two little boys with him and telling me that he wants revenge for his wife. I pretty much told him I couldn't – or wouldn't – help. Ha!” Constantine laughed. “If he knew I was talking to you... the man hates me guts.”

“That _man_ is dead.” Dean said through gritted teeth. “Killed by the demon that killed our mother, so you better had a good reason for not helping him.”

That finally wiped the smile off of Constantine's face. “Sorry to hear that.” He looked actually quite sincere. “But for the record, I did have a good reason. Couldn't get involved with all of that shite at the time.”

“Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?” He knew his annoyance with this guy was obvious now but he couldn't have cared less. He felt adrenalin rush through his veins and he knew that it was the Mark's effect on him, tried desperately to calm down and not let anyone see, especially not Sam, 'cause all he'd do was worry.

Constantine simply ignored his question. “You're in New York for the same reason as me, I presume.”

“We came here to figure out who or what is sending Hellhounds after people.” Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Do you happen to know what's going on?”

“Oh, I do know.”

“Planning on telling us?”

“No. I work better alone.” Constantine flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the pavement. “Besides, working with hunters isn't really my style and you two have a reputation. I mean, come on, who starts the bloody apocalypse by accident?”

“If you ain't a hunter, then what the hell are you?” Dean demanded to know.

“Scared I might be a demon after all, Winchester?”

“No demon could ever be such a prick.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“You really shouldn't.”

They had unintentionally moved closer, only a few inches between them now as they stared at each other. John with his smirk again and Dean with a full on glare. Then the blonde reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a business card. Without taking his eyes off of Dean's, he held it out for Sam to take.

“Exorcist. Demonologist and Master of the Dark Arts?” Sam read, frowning slightly.

“Yeah, just ignore the 'master' part, will ya? Just—I know me way around magic, okay?”

“So, you're a magician.” Dean said, taking the card from Sam.

“Call it whatever you want, mate. All I'm saying is that I don't make a habit of going around shooting Wendigos. Not really fond of guns in the first place.” Constantine mumbled.

“Your point?” Needless to say, Dean was sullen.

“My point is: I don't want you working on this case. I got it handled. You can just sod off to wherever you came from. And take your pretty angel with ya. New York is not exactly a safe place for him right now.”

Dean was stunned. How did this guy even know about Cas? They hadn't mentioned him, had they? It didn't help that Constantine was so freaking mysterious about everything he said. However, Dean decided to let it go. For now. He was not about to let this guy with his stupid British accent win.

“You better be right about having this under control. I don't want to hear about any more people dying around here.” He said, pointing one finger at the exorcist. Then he slowly opened Constantine's coat and placed the business card neatly in its former place, the inside pocket, but not without taking a close look at the phone number listed at the bottom of it. It might come in handy later.

Constantine raised his brows at Dean's actions but nonetheless kept smiling. “Ta.”

“One more thing.” Dean stopped as he was about to turn away. “You said twice.”

“Come again?”

“You said, we met _twice_ before. The first time, I guess, was when we were kids and you met with out father. What was the other time?” He looked over at Sam but he didn't seem to recall it, either.

“Well, we weren't exactly introduced.” For the first time Constantine really seemed to be entirely serious about what he was saying and he couldn't look Dean in the eye anymore. “You were torturing a soul, my father's soul to be precise. And I was watching.” He kicked at the ground a bit. “Didn't expect you to remember. I try to suppress the memories of Hell, too.”

Dean froze. Couldn't say a word. Couldn't hold on to any thought. Because he did remember. And that was the worst. Remembering Hell. It was still so real in his head. All of it. Alastair, forcing him to torture soul after soul just to avoid being tortured himself. And a man standing there, only that one time. Looking back on it, yes, that had been Constantine. And Dean had been torturing his father.

“I—”

“Don't sweat it. It's in the past and my old man could not have been saved from that. I'm rather glad, though, that you returned from... there.”

Dean swallowed, feeling the words getting stuck in his throat. “How did you get out?”

“I have me ways.”

Dean just nodded now, too stunned by this turn of events to keep on pestering the exorcist with questions. Sam then put a hand on his back, a silent sign that they should go and Dean obeyed.

“We might see you around, Constantine.” Sam said and gave him a small wave as he pushed Dean into the other direction.

“For your sakes, I hope you don't.” Was the answer he got, before Constantine pulled his lighter out of his pocket again to spin it in one hand as he turned and walked away, whistling quietly.

So yeah, that man had definitely been something else.

* * *

Back at the motel, Dean was still lost in his thoughts. He didn't know whether he should regret asking Constantine that question. Would it have a made a difference, if he hadn't? Of course it would have. If he hadn't asked that stupid question, he wouldn't be sitting here plagued by memories that he thought he'd banned to the darkest corner of his mind.

Sam kept glancing over at him from where he was sitting on his bed with his laptop in front of him. He was worried, Dean could tell that much. He didn't want Sam to worry about _him._ He should worry about Cas. Or even Adam. Just not him.

Sam cleared his throat, causing Cas to stir in his sleep but he didn't wake up. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

Standard answer. Standard lie.

But Sam didn't ask again. Good thing, he didn't because Dean wouldn't have been able to say those words a second time without choking on them.

He looked over to Cas on his bed. He looked miserable and it made his heart ache. He felt so useless not being able to help the angel. Cas had helped him, had saved him from hell. Where Constantine had been as well. He wish he knew how he had managed to escape Hell. That man held many mysteries.

Who exactly was he? Where did he come from? An exorcist. A magician, well versed in the Dark Arts. Was he on his own? And who was Chandler to him?

Dean leaned back on the couch, punching the pillow until it was comfortable enough. He would leave the bed to Cas. He didn't want to wake him, not in the middle of the night. Dean also didn't want to tell him about Constantine. He was pretty sure that Constantine had something to do with what Cas had told him back at the bunker.

Someone coming to New York. Someone who meant trouble. That may or may not be Constantine himself but Dean couldn't shake the feeling that even if it wasn't him, he had something to do with it.

It didn't take long for him to doze off but he kept waking up whenever his dreams showed him images of things he thought he didn't ever have to see again. At least not until his time came. Sam was still awake every time, doing his research and pretending not to notice Dean waking up in panic every hour or so.

Until one time, when he woke up and Sam wasn't there. He looked around the room frantically and was just about to jump up to check whether Sam was in the bathroom but then he saw him outside.

He was leaning against the frame of the window, almost entirely hidden by the curtains. He was talking to someone on the phone. Dean quickly checked the time as he noticed that it was light outside. Eight in the morning. Who would Sam talk to at eight in the morning?

When he got up, he knocked over an empty bottle that had been standing on the ground next to the couch. He cursed under his breath, when he saw Cas flinch at the sound. The angel, however, still didn't wake up. Dean didn't know whether that was a good thing. Cas needed rest but Dean was scared that at some point the angel just wouldn't wake up anymore.

The door opened quietly and Sam returned. He had to duck in order to not hit his head on the door frame.

“What were you doing?” Dean asked, realizing a second later that maybe that had sounded a bit harsh.

“Good morning to you, too.” Sam said and slid his phone back into his pocket. “How did you sleep?”

Dean straight out ignored the question. “Who were you talking to?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You know, I was doing some digging on that Constantine guy. All the internet knew was that he's probably from Liverpool, that he was involved in some nasty business and that there have been several manhunts but no one ever found him. He seems to be very secretive about anything involving his person and his whereabouts.”

“Yeah, no kidding. That's probably why we've never heard of him.”

“I thought so, too, at first. But then I was thinking, if this guy really knows his way around the occult, then there have to be people who know him. So, I called one of dad's old friends back in Kansas about him. Remember Josef?”

“Yeah. And?”

“Well,” Sam dropped down on the bed, “He said, and I quote: 'The Hellblazer? You better stay the fuck away from him, if you're fond of breathing.'”

“The what?” Dean frowned.

“Hellblazer. Apparently some kind of nickname Constantine earned himself.”

Dean frowned. What kind of _nickname_ was the 'Hellblazer'? “Well, he must have done some weird shit, if people have that attitude towards him.”

Sam grimaced. “Well, according to Josef, rumor has it, there will be war in Hell, when Constantine dies. He's pissed off so many demons, including the First of the Fallen, that they'd fight over who gets to torture his soul for the rest of eternity.”

Dean gave him a look filled with disbelief. “ _Him?_ That guy is Hell's most wanted?”

“Seems so. Everyone tries to avoid him by any cost. People around him drop dead like pawns. Josef was serious, when he said, we'd better stay away from him.”

“Mmh. I wish we knew more about him. All of that sounds like some made-up legend. Who would be dumb enough to piss off the First of the Fallen?”

Sam almost laughed. “Dean, we pissed off the King of Hell on several occasions. I don't think we get to judge.”

“That's something entirely different. Crowley is as harmless as they come these days. He barely counts as a threat anymore. He's an ass, yes, but not dangerous. The First of the Fallen on the other hand... if I'd piss him off, I'd be signing my death sentence.” Dean rubbed his arm where he could feel the Mark but quickly stopped, when he saw Sam watching him. “Do you think Crowley would know something useful about Constantine?”

Sam gave Dean a condescending look. “I'd say it's pretty _useful_ to know that this guy means trouble, Dean. We should just let it go. Let him handle the demon thing and go back to the bunker. We have to take care of our own problems. Besides, I thought you didn't want anything to do with Crowley.”

Dean glared at Sam. “I'm just saying. Crowley might be pretty dense but he knows what's going on in Hell better than anybody else. And if Constantine means trouble, maybe we should keep an eye on him. Weren't you the one who was so adamant about coming to New York for this case? And now you just want to let it go?”

“I'm saying it might be safer for us. Why are you so insistent on finding out more about this guy? He is just an arrogant dude in a trench coat.” Sam asked but then sighed. “Is this about him hurting your pride?”

“That is absolutely not what happened—”

Sam cut him off. “Alright, we stay. We work the case just like any other one. If you want to, we can even contact Crowley to ask about him. _But_ we try not to come close to him. If he really means bad news, I don't want to take the risk.”

Dean nodded slowly but he was a bit suspicious as to why Sam had given in so quickly. He couldn't help but think that Sam had his own reasons to find out more about the English man.

There was a sudden, harsh knock on the door. Dean gave the door a wary look, then looked over to Cas, who was still passed out on the bed. Sam had already pulled his gun from his jacket that hung over the back of a chair. He slowly clicked the safety mechanism and moved towards the door.

At the last moment Dean motioned for him to stop and to back off. Instead, he reached out to open the door. This way, Sam would be out of the line of fire and he could get a better shot at whoever was out there. Also, he would be able to hide the gun in case their visitor was harmless. After all there was no need to frighten the maid.

He looked back at Sam who nodded before turning the door knob.

“ 'ello, mate. Sorry to barge in like this.”

And with that the blonde man together with his trench coat, a cigarette in his mouth and that stupid accent had already slid past him. He looked around the room for a second before he sat down on the chair and kicked his feet up on the table. Dean hadn't even closed the door at this point.

But now, he slammed it shut.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“I changed me mind about the 'working together' thing.” Constantine said and gave Sam a sort of calculating look, seeing as he was still pointing his gun at him. “I didn't find the demon last night. The bastard probably found new hunting grounds.”

Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest. This guy couldn't be for real. No way.

“So, I thought, you lads could do me a little favor. I need to find that bloody soul sucker as fast as possible. Can't locate him.” His eyes found Castiel on the bed. “But your angel can.”

“No way.” Dean snapped at him. “You are _not_ just showing up here, demanding our help or Cas' help for that matter. Not after telling us to leave New York. How the hell did you find us anyway?”

Constantine shrugged. “Angels can locate each other. And I have me very own guardian angel.” He faked a smile. “I prefer to call him stalker, though.”

“Then why don't you ask your stalker to help you locate that demon?” Sam demanded to know and finally lowered his gun.

“Manny isn't exactly the most cooperative feathered one. He's very strict about interfering with fate or destiny or whatever you'd call it. He helped me find you and your angel and that's about it.” Constantine took the cigarette out of his mouth and extinguished it in the ashtray. “ So, are you gonna help or not?”

Dean chuckled and took a step towards the exorcist. “Well, would you look at that. The almighty Hellblazer needs our help. Isn't that just cute?”

Constantine's scowled at Dean and then averted his eyes. “Now where did you get that from?”

“We did a little digging.” Dean shrugged. “Who would call himself 'Hellblazer'?”

“You think I picked that name for myself?” Constantine raised an eyebrow and took his feet off of the table, his eyes now fixed on Dean. “No. That name is ridiculous. I don't have a bloody clue who came up with that.”

“You have quite the reputation, Constantine.” Sam said. “We were told to stay away from you. Hell, even you told us to stay away from you.”

Constantine didn't answer. He simply shook his head as he bit his lip.

“You better give us a good reason as to why we should help you.” Sam continued.

“If you do, I'll owe you.”

Dean frowned. “What makes you think that we want anything from you?”

There were a couple silent seconds until Constantine answered. “I know about the Mark, Dean. I know about everything that happened over the last couple a' months. You, a demon, running around playing best friends with Crowley.” He paused to see Dean's reaction but Dean's expression was unreadable. “I know you are looking for a way to get rid of the Mark. And I might be able to help.”

“You're bluffing.” Sam said. “If there was a way, we would have found it by now.”

“Well, you haven't found me.” Constantine said with that stupid condescending smirk.

“Deal.” Dean couldn't believe he was agreeing to this. It might even put Cas in danger for all he knew. But if Constantine was telling the truth, he could get rid of the Mark. It would be worth a try. “But if whatever you need from Cas is too much for him, you won't coerce him. And if you're lying—”

“Wouldn't dream of it. I'm no Judas.”

“You're no what?” Dean frowned.

“It's a metaphor, Winchester. Look it up.” Constantine grinned and got up. “Well, then. I better get going. Chas and I, we got some business to attend to. Let's say, we meet up tonight at my hotel.” He dropped a piece of paper on the table with an address written on it. “Just wait outside, I'll come find you. Bring the angel.”

He crossed the room and walked past Dean with barely an inch of space between them. Dean could smell the cigarette smoke that surrounded Constantine but that wasn't what startled him. It was the Mark. He could feel it affecting him the closer the exorcist got to him. He couldn't help it. The feeling rushed through him and set his veins on fire.

There was something about Constantine that made him a target of the Mark.

But he couldn't possibly be a demon. Or could he?

He didn't have time to say anything before the door had already closed behind Constantine. He looked back at Sam who had a rather thoughtful look on his face.

“Do you think that was good idea? Making a deal with _him_ of all people?” Sam pointed outside where they could see Constantine getting into a cab. The other man from last night, Chandler, was driving. Sooner or later they should maybe have chat with him. After all he seemed to trust Constantine blindly.

“I don't know.” Dean said quietly. “Maybe it was a mistake. Who knows?” He paused. “Cas knew about him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back at the bunker I asked Cas to look for unusual activity across the country. Asked him whether something big was going down anywhere. And he said angels were fleeing New York because someone else was coming.” He looked at Cas who hadn't woken up at all during Constantine's visit. “That had to be Constantine. He's the reason the angels fled the city. Because he means trouble.”

“If even angels are scared of him, then maybe we really shouldn't have agreed to help him.”

Dean nodded slowly. “I have a feeling this is about something bigger. They could easily hide from him. So why flee?” He bit his lip in frustration. “There's something about him that's just not right.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking that if angels avoid him and he's powerful enough to deal with demons and the First of the Fallen _and_ he's still _alive,_ then it might be a good idea to have him on our side.”

“Guess so.” Sam agreed. “But I have a feeling that his doom is only a matter of time. He's walking on very thin ice.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure where the story is going, yet. I just have some ideas.  
> And I need you to know that I have not yet read all of the Hellblazer comics, so if anything about Constantine's timeline or his behavior seems off, it's because I don't know any better. Feel free to point out major mistakes.


	3. Survivor Guilt

“I don't think he's coming.”

Dean stood there, leaning against a brick wall and sort of shivering in the cold evening air. They'd been waiting in front of the hotel, that Constantine supposedly stayed at, for almost two hours now but neither him nor Chas had made an appearance so far.

Sam looked at his watch again. “Maybe we simply have a different understanding of what it means, when someone says 'tonight'.”

“Yeah, or maybe the guy's a dick and ordered us here without any intention of showing up. I say, if he ain't here within the next ten minutes, we're leaving.”

Five minutes later there was still no Constantine anywhere in sight and Dean's annoyance became more obvious with every passing second.

“You know, I've been thinking,” Sam began but hesitated when Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

“I was thinking, this guy has a reputation, right? And apparently there's a reason he does, after what he told us. You said the angels fled when he showed up and if his nickname is anything to go by, the _Hellblazer_ is somewhat powerful. Or at least resourceful.”

“Where are you going with this?” Dean asked, fearing, though, that he knew exactly where Sam was going with this. Dean suspected that Sam had his own reasons to help the exorcist: Sam wanted the guy's help in return. Dean himself only had the Mark in mind. If working with Constantine didn't offer a chance of getting rid of it, Dean would stay the hell away from him.

“He could help us. With the Mark but also with Adam. You heard what he said. He's been to Hell. Maybe he has a way of getting him out.”

Dean tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “Sam, we've been over this. Adam can't be saved. You were a wreck after being in the cage and I had to make a deal with _Death_ to fix you. Adam is probably going to be way worse than you. It's too late.”

“But we're his family. We're the ones who should save him.”

“I'm not saying we shouldn't. I'm just saying that we can't.”

Sam turned away with a shake of his head. “You won't even try.”

“Even _if_ we could save him, what makes you think Constantine would help us? He has no reason to and frankly, I don't think he _can_ help us. The guy is a show-off and a douche. Just because he says, he's been to Hell, it doesn't mean he really has.” That was a lie. Dean was sure he had seen Constantine in Hell but he wasn't going to tell Sam. No, he needed Sam to forget about his stupid idea of saving Adam.

Sam didn't say anything in return, so hopefully he would finally drop the subject. Dean hated arguing with his brother. It wasn't that he didn't want to bring Adam back. No, on the contrary. But the idea of it seemed way too surreal. The Mark on the other hand... Constantine said he could help, said he knew what to do. And Dean wanted to get rid of it but he had gotten used to the thought of having to keep it. As long as Crowley had the blade hidden somewhere safe, he would be fine. He could control it and he could live with it. After all, Cain had, too.

And then there was the fact that he didn't trust Constantine. Not at all.

The Mark had reacted somehow, when Constantine had come close to him and it only ever did that, when demons were close by. It had made Dean suspicious. There was something up with the guy. He just didn't know what. Not yet.

“His time is up. I'm not waiting any longer.” Dean said with a resigned shrug and turned to leave. He had taken about two steps, when Sam grabbed his arm. Dean looked back at him in confusion. “What?”

Sam nodded in the opposite direction. “There he is.”

And he was right. About a block down the street they could see a man in a beige trench coat. Even at the distance it was obviously him. You could see it in the way he walked and his blonde hair stood out in the crowd. If that wouldn't have been enough to be sure, the cigarette in his mouth was a dead giveaway.

“About time.” Dean grumbled, kicking at the ground. “Next time he better be more specific when setting up a meeting.”

When Constantine noticed them, he showed a grin before taking his cigarette, extinguishing it between his fingers and flicking it away. “Hello, boys. Nice night, innit?”

“Yeah, I've had enough time to appreciate it for the last two hours, so get to the point, Constantine.”

Constantine didn't seem fazed by Dean's rather rude welcome. “Quite hostile, are we?” He gave both brothers a quick once-over. “Alright, come along. We're talking about this in my room.” He slid his hands into his coat pockets and walked towards the entrance of the hotel, the doorman opening it for him. “Thank you, good sir.”

Sam followed Constantine right away unlike Dean who simply felt like being stubborn. And why the hell should he let Constantine boss him around like that? It only took a couple seconds for him to realize that staying out here in the cold wasn't exactly helping, either. He'd have to give in for now and try to make a point of defying Constantine another time.

He quickly followed Sam through the door that the man was still holding open. “Thanks.”

He caught up with them in front of the elevator doors that were just opening and he joined them in the small cabin, standing next to Sam opposite the exorcist, watching him closely as he punched the button for the forth floor. It was quiet until they reached the second floor, only the elevator music playing in the background.

Then Dean broke the silence. “Where's Chandler?”

“He's not my chaperone. Chas has a job and a family.” That was apparently the only answer he'd get. Not that Dean had expected anything more specific in the first place but still, he kept digging.

“So, he lives in New York? Works here?”

Constantine now looked at him, slowly raising an eyebrow.

“But _you're_ not from here.”

“You're right. I'm not. I'm from Liverpool, if you really need to know.” He tilted his head slightly. “But if we're playing this game of twenty questions, I got one as well: Why didn't you bring the angel like I asked?”

That caught Dean somewhat off guard. Of course, he knew Constantine had asked for Cas specifically but the angel wasn't doing well. Dean hadn't dared to drag him all the way across town. Not in his current state.

“Sorry, but Cas is in no state to do this—whatever it is you want him to do. If you really need him, you have to come to the motel and have him do it there.”

Constantine clicked his tongue but nodded. “We'll figure something out. If he can't do it, you'll have to do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“All in due time.”

The elevator doors opened with a 'ding' and Constantine stepped into the hallway, turning left and steering towards one of the doors. He pulled a key card out of his coat, opening the door quickly and motioning for Sam and Dean to get inside. He followed and pulled the door closed before locking it.

“Make yourselves at home. Just don't touch the stuff on the table. Or anything that's on the wall for that matter. One of you fancy a drink?”

He didn't get an answer. Both hunters were rather star-struck by what Constantine had done to the room. It wasn't messy, no, but the walls were covered in maps, photos and newspaper articles, all connected by red and black thread and post-it notes sticking to almost everything.  
A map of New York was the center of it all. It was marked in several spots with a red sharpie and Dean could make out the address of the bar from the night before.

“You two look like you've never seen research before.” Constantine walked up behind them, a smug expression on his face, handing both Sam and Dean a glass with a golden-brown beverage. Brandy. He had taken off his coat, now wearing only a white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his tie, which was even more loose than before.

“Looks like you really put some time into this.” Sam said, sounding admiring even.

Constantine chuckled but nodded. “Those,” he made a gesture that included the whole of his research construct on the walls, “are the fruits of last night. I was trying to figure out why the soul sucker changed his hunting grounds and where he's hiding now. I've narrowed it down to this area.” He pointed at a part of the map where several blocks of Uptown Manhattan were marked red.

“You did all of this last night?” Dean sounded rather disbelieving as he spoke. It was ridiculous, right?

“Surprised, Winchester?”

“Not in the least, Constantine.” He spat out the man's last name like a curse, which only seemed to amuse him. As the exorcist sipped his drink, Dean spoke again. “So, what are we doing here? If we can't find this demon without Cas, then what are you planning on doing now?”

“First of all, the bastard's not just any demon. It's a souls sucker, which is basically the same thing, only more powerful. Closer to a Knight of Hell. Some rules simply don't apply to them.”

“Like the part where they don't have to seal a deal with a kiss?” Sam interrupted.

“Exactly. Smart kid you are.” John commented, causing Dean to roll his eyes. “Another thing about soul suckers, they can't be exorcised with the usual—you know?” He waved his hand around in a 'whatever'-gesture. “It takes a bit more than that.”

“And let me guess, you know exactly how to do it and you are perfectly qualified to do it on your own.” Dean said with a fake smile but Constantine simply gave him the exact same smile before letting himself fall down on a chair at the table that was also covered in research and a couple empty bottles.

“As a matter of fact, I _am_ perfectly qualified to do this alone but I'd fancy some back-up while I fight Hell's finest and you two happen to be almost just as qualified.”

“Thanks.”

“Now let's get to the point, shall we?” Constantine pulled out a piece of paper that had been buried underneath several books on the table and gave it to Sam. “This will work as an exorcism. I suggest that you two memorize it in case I don't make it.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be way more dangerous than your average demon hunt?” Sam asked warily.

“Because it is. Something is coming and the Rising Darkness enhances the power of every dark supernatural being.”

Dean frowned. “And what is the Rising Darkness?”

“I don't know. Not yet.” Constantine admitted.

“Cut the crap, alright? You're constantly leaving us out of the picture. Stop the secrecy and tell us what you know.” Dean knew he sounded rather accusing and Sam's look was proof of it but he was so sick of Constantine constantly keeping things to himself.

Constantine's ever present smile left his face as he looked up at Dean. “I am under no obligation to answer to you, Winchester. We have an agreement. You help me deal with this soul sucker and I help you with the Mark. After that we part ways and hopefully never run into each other again. So, I don't give a fuck, whether you feel left out because whatever I do is none of your business.”

Dean grit his teeth. “Well, I'd prefer knowing what's going on. You know, just so it doesn't come as a surprise when I have to haul either yours or Sam's body into a grave.”

“I know what I'm doing, alright? If someone's gonna die, it won't be because I didn't tell you enough details but because you somehow managed to fuck something up.”

“I don't _fuck up._ You know why? 'Cause I've fucked up enough. I've lost enough people because of it and I don't plan on losing any more. If you were taking this serious, you would give a shit about what happens to people!”

“ _Don't you think I've lost people as well?!”_ Constantine yelled. “Do you really think I don't care? Because if you do, you're dead wrong. I have lost just about _everything_ a man can lose! And it's always been my fault. Everyone around me dies! My father blamed me for my mother's death! My only friends _hate_ me because I damned a little girl to Hell. I'm the one person that always lives as I watch everyone else die. You know nothing about me, so don't you dare assume you do!”

Constantine's voice was cold. He had not once reacted like this before. Usually he hid all his feelings behind that smug smile and his cigarettes but now something was shining through. And Dean knew it all too well: Constantine was just as broken as any of them. If not worse.

And Dean stopped arguing with him, partly because it felt like his throat was contracting, so he simply nodded in agreement. “Then let's get this show on the road.”

Sam had sat through their rather loud argument in silence. Dean was sure he knew why. To Dean it always felt like Sam was affected by guilt more heavily than himself. Sam blamed himself for Jessica's death and for their mom's death as well. Not that Dean didn't blame himself but it never affected him as much as it did Sam.

“This exorcism,” Sam said the, as he studied the piece of paper, “it says, it requires sacrifice. What is that supposed to mean?”

“It's blood magic.” Constantine explained. “It demands a blood sacrifice. As it's recited there has to be constant blood flow and all that.”

Sam held up a hand to interrupt. “Wait, blood _magic_? This is magic?”

Constantine leaned back in his chair and looked at Sam expectantly. “Yeah, got a problem with it?”

“Well,” Dean said with a laugh. “Aside from the fact that neither Sam nor I are very fond of magic, you're forgetting that we're not magicians or _Masters of the Dark Arts._ ” He put quotes around that expression with his fingers. “We can't conjure any spells.”

Constantine actually laughed at that and put down his glass on the table. “I'll tell you the ultimate secret of magic. Any cunt could do it.” He kept laughing when he saw the look on the brothers' faces. “Don't worry, you won't have to perform any magic, if everything goes as planned.”

“What if things don't go as planned?” Dean asked and took the paper from Sam to take a closer look at it.

“Then you decide whether to try yourselves at magic or you take your little knife and kill the soul sucker _and_ the human host.”

Sam frowned. “The demon knife will work on the soul sucker?”

“Demon knife? No, I'm talking about the First Blade. Dean's knife, so to say.”

Dean let out a laugh. “You can't be serious. I'm not going anywhere near that Blade. Using it might turn me back into a demon.”

Constantine gave him a condescending look. “Are you telling me you don't have it? Where is it?”

“Crowley hid it. He's the only one who knows its location.” Sam answered with a sigh.

“You trusted _Crowley_ with the First Blade?” Constantine buried his face in his hands. “Are you bloody serious?”

“He was our best option, okay?” Dean defended himself. “Crowley and I might not exactly get along after everything he did but we spent a lot of time together lately and I trust that he won't do anything stupid with the Blade. Besides, I'm the only one who can actually use it. It's not like he can do too much damage.”

Constantine bit his lip. “True. But I am pretty certain that he won't give it back to you, either. You could kill him with it and he knows that. He won't return it.”

“Funnily enough, I don't want him to return it.”

“Funnily enough, we might need it to get rid of the Mark.” Constantine mocked but waved his hand dismissively, when Dean was about to ask another question. “We'll worry about it later, luv. Don't sweat it.”

That shut Dean up. Admittedly, it was Constantine calling him 'love' that shut him up but that was beside the point. The Hellblazer really seemed to know how to get rid of the Mark. It didn't sound like he was bluffing. And that, that was sort of the opposite of what Dean would have expected from him.

“By the way,” Constantine spoke up. “What knife were you referring to earlier? The demon knife?”

Sam shrugged and then reached inside his jacket to pull out the small blade. “I meant this one. We've had it for some time now. It kills—”

“Demons.” Constantine interrupted him. His eyes were fixed on the knife. “I know. After all, that pretty little thing belongs to me.”

Dean wasn't sure he'd heard that right. “Wait, hold up. _What?_ How does that belong to you in any way?”

“I _made_ it, Winchester, so I have at least somewhat of an entitlement to it.” He reached out for the knife and Sam begrudgingly gave it to him. Constantine gently traced his fingertip over the runes on the blade and Dean's jaw almost dropped when rune after rune started to glow slightly, after being touched by the exorcist. Constantine smiled. “Spell still works.” He said to himself before flipping the knife in the air, catching it one-handed at the blade and handing it back to Sam. “You can make better use of it than I can. Keep it.”

Sam took the knife, sliding it back into his pocket. “How did Ruby get it, if it was yours?”

Constantine snorted. “Ruby?” Constantine bit his lip. “So, that's where it went. I was actually wondering, whether I'd lost it somewhere along the way. Ruby... She managed to steal from me and I didn't even suspect her. Respect.” He paused. “Is she still alive?”

“No.” Sam and Dean deadpanned simultaneously.

All three men were silent for several minutes. Dean sipped his drink that he had barely touched up until now as he was lost in his thoughts. Constantine was a mystery. They knew nothing about him but yet he seemed to know everything about them. His past was woven with theirs somehow, he had known John Winchester, he had known Ruby, he knew Crowley and thy had been using his knife for god knows how long and they never even knew his name. And now he had shown up out of the blue without any warning, offering a solution to most any problem they had. What were the odds of that happening?

Somewhere around zero probably.

And yet, there he was, all trench coat and arrogance and Dean couldn't help but find him intriguing. Never would he admit that. Especially because the man was a jackass all the same. He wasn't ready to trust him just yet.

Suddenly Dean's phone in the pocket of his jacket rang. Sam and John both looked at him and he quickly put his glass down and answered the call, turning away slightly as being stared at by the other two made him sort of uncomfortable.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes for a second. Cas' voice on the other end of the line made his heart hurt. Quite literally. He didn't exactly sound like he was doing better but at least he had woken up from his comatose-like sleep and had apparently found the note Dean had left him, telling him where Sam and him were going and that Cas should call, should he wake up.

“Cas, how are you doing?”

“I'm okay. Just... You're with John Constantine?” Dean couldn't help but notice that Cas didn't just sound curious as he asked that, he also sounded rather wary, maybe even hurt. No, that had to be Dean's imagination. He really needed to stop hoping that the angel could have similar feelings for him. Especially because he didn't even know the extent of the feelings _he_ had for the angel.

“Yeah, we're at his hotel. He's letting us in on his research and we're discussing the next step in dealing with the soul sucker.”

There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line. “A soul sucker?”

“We're gonna explain everything later. Do you feel fit enough to come here?” Dean bit his lip. He could answer that question himself because no, Cas could not just go walk halfway across the city. “How about we come get you?”

He looked up to see how Sam thought about this. However, his eyes met Constantine's first and they stayed locked with his for several moments. Dean couldn't tell, whether Constantine was staring on purpose. Was that how one would look at another man whose acquaintance one had made only a day ago? Dean doubted it.

Constantine cleared his throat. “I think we should rather make our way over to your motel. We don't want to make this any harder for your little feathery one, now do we?” He actually _winked_ at Dean as he said that.

“He's not my—”

“Alright, let's go.” Sam said quickly, preventing Dean from saying any more.

Constantine grinned, stood up from his chair and grabbed his trench coat in one swift movement. He didn't bother putting it on, just slung it over his shoulder, grabbed a rather large bag from underneath the table and nodded towards the door. “Shall we?”

His emotional outburst from earlier seemed forgotten.

But Dean knew now that Constantine was in no way as invulnerable as he made it seem.

* * *

“I can't believe you were serious, when you said you came by tube.” Constantine stated in a rather disgruntled voice, trying to hold on to one of the handles on the train as it took an abrupt turn. However, seeing as he was still holding his bag in one hand, the task proved sort of difficult.

“I recall saying 'subway' but you know, whatever floats your boat.” Dean showed Constantine a wide grin and got a scowl in return.

“It's called a bloody tube, Winchester.”

“I'm pretty sure it's not.”

“Fight me!”

Dean laughed which earned him a couple strange looks from other passengers but he ignored them. He had decided that pissing Constantine off about little things was his new favorite game. It was a challenge, seeing as the exorcist didn't lose his temper that easily and he could usually snark back just as good but Dean counted arguments like the one just now as a win.

He looked over at Sam but his brother seemed to pretend like he didn't know either of them. Might as well let him.

A couple minutes later they all exited the subway and climbed up the stairs back up to the street. They had to walk one or two blocks to get to the motel, which John complained about, saying that they should have just taken a cab in the first place.

“I mean, come on, we exorcise not exercise!”

That made Dean genuinely laugh and he didn't stop until they reached their motel. Cas opened the door, having seen them coming. He looked better, not by much but all that sleeping seemed to have restored some of his strength.

Dean lightly clapped his shoulder as he walked past him into the room. “Cas, you apparently know John Constantine?” He nodded towards the man behind him.

“Yes, I have heard about him.”

“Lots have, mate.” Constantine said and held out his hand. “Pleasure.”

Cas took his outstretched hand with some hesitation and flinched slightly, when they made contact. Constantine closed his eyes for a second and breathed in deeply before letting go of Cas' hand again.

“It's fading fast.” He said quietly. “What are you lads planning on doing about this?” He looked at Sam and Dean.

“His grace?” Sam frowned. “How do _you_ know it's fading?”

“Well, it's the only reason why an angel would be in this state and I can sense it, alright? So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Dean hated that he did but he looked down to avoid not only Constantine's but also Castiel's look. The truth was, he had no idea. They hadn't found a way to restore Cas' grace. “We don't know. We're working on it.”

“I don't blame anyone.” Cas said genuinely. “If there's no way to restore it, then I'm fine with that.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow at him. “You're quite the martyr, aren't you? Sacrificing yourself for the greater good and all that shite.” Cas gave him a rather confused look but Constantine shook his head dismissively. “Who took your grace?”

“Another angel, Metatron.”

“The scribe of God?” Constantine mocked but suddenly it seemed like he was distracted by something else. He looked at a spot a bit to the right of Sam and gave that spot his full attention. Only that there was nothing there. Dean was just about to call him out on that but then noticed that Cas was doing the same thing. Paying attention to, well, to nothing.

Then Constantine nodded and bit his lip. “That makes things rather difficult. What do you suppose I do? I can't march in there, now can I?”

“Come again?” Dean asked.

“Talking to Manny.” Constantine responded and held up a hand to tell Dean to wait a second. “Well, if Metatron's in Heaven it won't exactly be easy to get to him. And _if_ he has any of Castiel's grace left somewhere, he certainly won't just give it to us.”

“Your angel is here?” Sam wondered.

“He's not _my_ angel, but yes. He just won't show himself to anyone but me. He says, if we got Castiel's grace back or even just a little bit of it, we could restore it whole. But seeing as Metatron's locked up in Heaven, we might have to find another source.”

“ _We?_ Are you planning on helping us?” Dean asked harshly.

“Why not?” Constantine shrugged. “Don't have anything better to do.”

“Oh, how very generous of you.”

Constantine smirked. “I'm your best shot at finding solutions to your problems and let's face it, you have loads of them. So, do you want my help or not?”

Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What makes you think we won't find someone else who can help us, someone better than you?”

“Because it doesn't matter who you'll find, I'll always be best.”

“Wow, the modesty.”

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole story is roughly set after the episode 'The Hunter Games' (10x10), I guess I should have mentioned that before.  
> Also, I know that the origin of the Demon Knife is a different one but originally it was supposed to be a mystery and this explanation fit my story better.  
> So, let me know, if you like where this is going. Any criticism is welcome as well.


	4. It's Not Over 'Till You're Underground

Constantine left only about twenty minutes later when he got a call from Chas. He hastily packed up his things that he had pulled out of his bag just mere minutes before, preparing the locator spell Cas was supposed to help with. He told Sam and Dean that it would simply have to wait. Something important had come up.

They watched him storm out the door, not bothering to close it behind himself before he disappeared down the street. Dean frowned slightly and then walked over to close the door. “What do you think could be so important right now? I thought he wanted to get this over with. Not to mention that the lives of people are at stake.”

Sam shrugged in response. “Probably something personal.”

“Please, as if that guy even has a personal life.” Dean said with a roll of his eyes. “Doesn't it bother you how secretive he's being?”

“He has his reasons, Dean. Let's just hope his priorities don't put anyone in danger.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Dean mumbled to himself before falling down on the bed next to where Cas was sitting in silence. He gave Dean a curious look but remained quiet. He had a pensive look on his face ever since Constantine's angel had shown up. It made Dean wonder whether he had said something important that Constantine and Cas had failed to mention. He would have to ask Cas later. No chance he would ask Constantine about it.

Sam looked at the time on his watch as he ran his other hand through his rather long hair. “I'm gonna run and find a gas station or any other store that's possibly still open. We're in serious need of food other than granola bars.” He grabbed his jacket and searched his jeans pocket for a couple dollars. “I'll be back soon.”

“Yeah, fine. Bring pie?” Dean asked hopefully.

“No.”

“But, Sam—”

“Okay! If you promise to shut up about it for at least the next month.”

Dean gave him the most innocent smile that he could manage in his lying position and saw Sam's eye roll before his brother left through the door, slamming it shut behind himself.

That left Dean and Cas alone in the room.

The silence that followed lasted about five to ten minutes. Cas was inspecting his shoes as if they'd suddenly become rather interesting, oblivious to Dean observing him from the side. At least Dean hoped that Cas was oblivious to it. He did like looking at the angel. His expressions were like an open book to Dean. He could always tell Cas' confusion about human habits, his surprise when Dean defended him, his disappointment whenever something went wrong and also his guilt when Cas came face to face with his own mistakes.

Dean didn't exactly like seeing those emotions on Cas' face but watching them was worth seeing Cas' small smiles that he only showed when he was genuinely happy. What he loved even more, though, was when he was the one putting those smiles on the angel's face. It was rare but it happened. And it was one of the reasons that Dean couldn't possibly let Cas die.

And if saving Cas meant that he had to work with John Constantine, that was what he was going to do.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Cas suddenly spoke. “Do you really think that there's a chance to save me?”

“Of course I do, Cas. Didn't the other angel say that it was possible, if we found your grace?” Dean sat up, aware that now their shoulders were merely an inch away from touching.

“He didn't exactly say that. That was what Constantine made out of it. He's the one who says it will work. And I'm not too sure I trust him.”

“What do you know about him? He's the one you meant, when you told me about that someone coming to New York, isn't he? You said he meant trouble.”

Cas hesitated. Dean could see him struggle to decide how to word it. Open book. “He's done a lot of wrong, Dean, but at the same time he has defeated more evil than one could imagine. His sense of morality is twisted and he lives by the standard that rules are meant to be broken.” He paused. “He has endangered a lot of people but probably saved twice as many in the process. One could argue that he simply decides, whether killing ten is worth saving eleven.”

“So, you're saying that Constantine doesn't care about collateral damage?” Dean wondered. “That's good to know, I guess.”

“I'm saying, he'd rather save himself than anyone else.”

“Understandable with what he has coming for him, when he dies.” Dean let out a small laugh, which Cas apparently read as misplaced humor and Dean underestimating the situation because he turned to face him with a serious expression.

“Dean, he won't always be on your side. You have to look out for yourself and Sam around him, or else he'll—”

“I will look out for myself and my brother, Cas. I'll look out for you, too, you know that.” He really hoped Cas did know that. “I don't fully trust Constantine. And earning my trust will cost him some effort. Don't worry, I won't let him play me.”

Castiel nodded. “As long as you're careful.”

Dean smiled in response, didn't know what to make of Cas' concern for him, but also didn't want to address the subject. If Cas really cared for him the way Dean cared for Cas, wouldn't he say something? Did he understand the concept of loved ones? Dean actively avoided the term of 'being in love' because that was not what this was. They shared something special and it turned their friendship into something more than just friendship. Dean didn't believe that it was love. Not that definition of love anyway.

It's not that he was in denial. The possibility of being in love with a man was nothing new for him and entirely reasonable. If anyone would have asked him, he would have never denied being bisexual. But, needless to say, no one ever did ask him and he didn't feel the need to tell anyone. You could say that it was a secret that he wasn't actively trying to keep.

Besides, he had been with other men before but that was not the point.

The point was, he and Cas really needed to talk about their relationship in order to determine whether it was to remain platonic.

But now was not the time. They had more important things to deal with.

“When is John Constantine coming back? The more time goes by wasted, the likelier it gets that the soul sucker will collect another soul.” Cas sounded concerned about the demon. From what Dean understood, after what Constantine had explained earlier, this soul sucker was on a whole other level than your average demon. But just like with everything else, Constantine had not exactly been very detailed, so to be honest, Dean barely knew what he was up against. Usually Sam did the research and Dean learned what he needed to know about the case by osmosis.

This case was different: He'd never been up against a soul sucker before. He had never had so many other problems to worry about at the same time. And he'd never worked a case with John Constantine before. Something about the guy was turning everything upside down. And Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. He was intrigued either way.

He shook his head. He really needed to stop thinking like that.

“What can you tell me about soul suckers?” Dean asked Cas. “You seem to know their kind.”

Cas shrugged half-heartedly. “They are demons with certain powers, close to Knights of Hell or maybe close to what you were.” Dean tensed when he heard that but kept a straight face in front of Cas. “ They aren't as easy to get rid of without killing the host as well.”

“Yeah, Constantine filled us in on that. He can do it with some kind of blood magic, though, he says.”

Cas' eyebrows shot up. “He wants to perform blood magic to bind the soul sucker? That could be dangerous. He could get possessed by the demon, if he isn't careful.”

“Well, then I hope he has taken precautions. But what do you mean by binding? Binding it to what?”

“Blood magic is used to bind spirits and demons to objects and sometimes places or even people. If bound to a person, the demon will consume that person and die with it. From objects and places it can free himself as soon as the magic wears off.”

Dean frowned. “He didn't go that far into detail, so I don't know what he's planning on doing.” He paused. “Hell, he even told us we could do it.”

“Perform the spell, you mean?” Cas asked and Dean nodded. “That would be wishful thinking. I mean, technically you could. But magic requires practice and energy. It has to be controlled. There's a lot of mental energy, mental willpower involved. Magical mastery doesn't just come with the snap of your fingers.”

“Huh,” Dean huffed. “I guess, he overestimated our skill level, if he really thought we could do it. Let's just hope that he knows what he's doing, so it doesn't have to come to us performing any magic.”

“Oh, he know what he's doing.” Dean gave Cas a curious look but Cas shook his head dismissively. “You know he's got a reputation. His rate of failure on the job is somewhere around 0.1 per cent. Even if there are casualties.”

“That guy seems so ordinary.” Dean said with a shake of his head. “If you saw him on the street, you'd never expect him to be Hell's most wanted. I don't know how someone like him became such a big deal. Anyways,” Dean stood up and made his way over to the fridge to get the last beer. “I'll judge his skills when he manages to put down that bastard of a demon.” He opened the bottle on the edge of the table, saw Cas nod and then they were silent again as he sipped on his beer.

At some point Dean turned on the TV and they wordlessly watched some crime drama show. Cas' eyes fell closed every now and then, Dean noticed, but the angel stayed awake.

About fifteen minutes later Sam returned, grocery bags in both hands. Dean got up and helped him unpack, placing those things that had to be refrigerated in the small fridge. A wide grin showed on his face, when he found the box of pie. Cherry pie. That was good. Maybe the only good thing that had happened this evening. Wow, since when was he such a pessimist?

He settled on the couch next to Sam, fork in one hand, the plate with his pie in the other and dug in. Cas frowned and stared but Dean chose to ignore that. Sam had changed the channel and was now watching the news instead, which was probably more interesting than that drama show anyways.

“There's been an attack.” Sam said suddenly and Dean looked up from his pie. “Just down the street from Jameson.” He turned up the volume of the TV to listen to what the reporter was saying.

“ _...don't have any information on what exactly has happened, yet. The body was found by Ellen Harbor in the master bedroom of the house just twenty minutes ago. It is yet to be identified, seeing as it has been 'mauled beyond recognition' as officials are putting it but it is almost certain that the victim is Ben Harbor.”_

“Mauled beyond recognition,” Dean repeated. “Pretty sure we all know what that means.”

“Another Hellhound attack.” Sam nodded, then his eyes became wide as he stared at the TV screen. “Is that...?”

Dean did a double take when he discovered what Sam was seeing. There, in the background of the scene, behind the police cars and the officers that were securing the area, hidden in the shadows of some trees, there stood a man. His face was only visible in the blue and red light of the police cars but there was no doubt about who he was.

“Constantine? What the fuck is he doing there?” Dean got up and even took a step closer to the TV. “Did he go after that demon on his own? Is there where he went? Was that his emergency?” He didn't mean to get louder but he sort of did.

“Seems so.” Sam answered, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What the hell is he thinking? Going alone? I thought we were working together now.”

Cas took a deep breath. “I told you. He plays by his own rules. Either he had a reason for going alone or he didn't and simply thought you'd get in the way.”

“Oh, nice.” Dean said sarcastically and placed his plate on the table maybe a bit too harshly. “That's it. I'm calling him.”

“You... what? You're calling him? How do you even have his number?” Sam demanded to know but Dean just shrugged.

“I memorized it from his stupid business card. Now, where's my phone?” He found it in his jacket pocket and began dialing the number. Sam's and Cas' eyes were lingering on him as he listened to the dialing sound. After a couple rings, it was picked up.

“'ello?”

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Is that you, Winchester?”

“Damn right, it's me, Constantine.” He spat back. “Now what are you doing there?”

“You mean, what am I doing at a crime scene. Well, first o' all, be assured that I did not kill Mr Harbor. I was merely a witness.” He chuckled. “Nah, not even that. I came too late.”

“You better have a good explanation for going alone. For just disappearing on us. You were the one who wanted to work together on this case. How come you suddenly changed you mind?” Dean noticed Sam gesturing for him to put Constantine on speaker. He sighed and did just that.

“I didn't change me mind. I didn't _plan_ on leaving you out of the picture, Winchester. It was a... bloody hell, why am I explaining myself to you? It wasn't my fault, so don't get all whiny about this!” Constantine seemed to have put a cigarette in his mouth while talking, seeing as his last words were a bit muffled. “I'm on my way back to my hotel. It's late, Winchester, and I'm bloody knackered. Let me get some sleep and we'll continue this ridiculous argument tomorrow.”

“Fuck you, Constantine.”

“I told you, I'm rather tired. Maybe some other time.”

That shut Dean up for several seconds. He didn't dare to look up at Sam or Cas, fearing he might have blushed. He quickly recovered, though, and let out a laugh. “You wish. Tell me one thing, though, Constantine. Don't you think that soul sucker is going to go after the man that it made a deal with and who just happens to live two houses down from where you just were? Lewis Jameson?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Dean thought he heard Constantine stop walking and turn around on the spot. They heard a muffled curse from the exorcist. “Get your asses here immediately, if you want to save that man's life. The demon most definitely will be going to collect that soul as well.” And with that, Constantine hung up but they still heard him say something along the lines of “One quiet night, is that too bloody much to ask...?”

Sam had already grabbed his jacket and Dean hastily followed him to the door. Cas however, didn't move.

“Aren't you coming?” Dean asked.

“I won't be of much help to you,” Cas explained. “Just go and be careful. Don't trust him, Dean.”

Sam was already out the door and didn't hear Cas' warning. Dean just nodded and seconds later he was gone as well.

They practically ran towards the subway station. Traveling underground would be the fastest way through the city, even though Dean would have preferred taking the Impala. They could have used a lot of the stuff from the trunk. Now they were only armed with the demon knife and a gun each that would be of much help. Well, a Hellhound they could shoot but not a demon.

People on the subway seemed to sense how anxious they were because they stayed as far away from them as possible, not knowing what their deal was. Sam didn't say a word. Neither did Dean. What was there to say? Could they make it before Jameson had to pay his price for a deal he never wanted to make?

* * *

When they reached the gate of Jameson's driveway, Constantine was waiting for them. He had his bag in one hand, leaning against the gate and tapping his foot on the ground in a fast rhythm.

“About time.” He grumbled. “They won't let me in.”

“And you let that stop you?” Sam asked with a raised brow. “Didn't think you'd be hesitant to break in somewhere.”

Constantine glared at him. “If I had gone and broken in, you'd have whined about me going solo again, so don't even go there, alright?”

Dean rolled his eyes and stepped past Constantine to access the intercom. “Good evening, ma'am. Sorry to disturb you so late. This is Agent Hudson and my partner Agent Rose. We were here yesterday. Is it possible that we speak to Mr Jameson? It is important.”

The woman on the other end agreed to let them in and told them she would notify Mr Jameson right away. They were asked to wait in the lobby. After the gate opened all three of them hurried up to the house. Constantine caught up with Dean and walked next to him.

“Guns N' Roses? Seriously?” Constantine asked with a smirk.

“Most people don't notice.” Dean claimed.

“Ah, so I don't count as 'most people'?”

“I refuse to answer that.”

After that Dean walked faster until he reached the door and was let in by the same Mexican woman from the day before. Sam and Constantine followed just as Lewis Jameson came rushing down the stairs. Obviously he had been asleep already judging by his tousled hair and quickly put-on clothes.

“Agents? What's the matter?” He seemed seriously concerned, his hands were shaking as he pulled his pullover down a bit further. “Who's this?” He asked referring to Constantine.

“He's our, um, colleague.” Sam said with a sort of shrug. “Is there any place we can talk in private?”

“We'll be alone in the house in only a few minutes. My staff leaves at midnight.” Jameson explained. “We can go to the living room and sit down?” It sounded like a question. It was clear that Jameson was rather irritated by their sudden return. He probably feared the worst after what they had told him the day before. If he had believed them or not, Dean couldn't tell.

In the living room they all sat down on the expensive-looking white couch. Everyone except Constantine who wandered over to the windows and started salting the ledge.

“What—what is he doing?” Jameson asked confused. “What is going on?”

Dean leaned forward and started explaining. “You probably haven't heard, but you neighbor two houses down has been ripped to shreds about an hour ago.” He ignored the sharp intake of breath that followed that statement and continued. “We have reason to believe that you're next and we're here to, well, protect you. Sort of.”

“Very convincing.” Constantine commented from his spot at the window. He moved on to the doors next.

Dean tried his best not to yell back at the exorcist and instead concentrated on Jameson. “If you do as we say, you don't have anything to worry about, alright? Just don't panic, whatever happens.”

“Well, if all three of us die or are indisposed in any other way, you should probably panic. Just saying.”

“Would you just _shut up?_ ” Dean said through gritted teeth. He glared at Constantine who held up his hands in surrender before continuing to salt the entrance of the room. “How much good will the salt do anyways?”

“Have you been up against Hellhounds before?”Constantine asked. “They have a problem with salt. It won't stop them, no, but it will slow them down at least. By the way, Jameson, we won't pay for any property damage.”

Jameson just nodded, stunned at their exchange. Sam on the other hand seemed rather annoyed by their constant arguments about the smallest issues. Who could blame him? Dean hated himself for it but it seemed like he couldn't stop himself. It was like Constantine was pulling on Dean's trigger, causing him to snark back at him at any possible moment.

Sam gave Constantine a calculating look. “How do you plan on defending yourself?”

“I don't fight, if I can avoid it.” Constantine shrugged and tossed his bag into a corner. In his hand he held his lighter. He snapped it open once and watched the small flame for a couple seconds. “I usually prefer protecting myself instead of attacking. And if I _have_ to attack, it won't be with a gun.”

“You didn't exactly answer my question?”

Constantine looked up at Sam with a complacent expression. “Did I say that I would?”

Dean caught Sam's look—pretty much his bitch face—and decided that it would be safest to keep his mouth shut this time. Instead he got up and motioned for Jameson to get up as well. “Come on, we'll try to protect you the best way that we can. If you're lucky, the Hellhound won't even show up tonight.” He held his hand out to Constantine, who raised an eyebrow but gave him the salt can, either way. Dean made a circle on the ground and then commanded Jameson to stand inside. “Whatever happens, don't leave the circle. If it breaks, of course, you can leave it. By all means, run for your life, if it does.”

“What's going to happen? What is a Hellhound?” His voice was slightly shaking but he did his best to hide it.

“A Hellhound collects souls for demons. They are only visible to those they prey on. But anyone can sense their presence.” Dean paused for a second. “That might be a problem actually. Sam? Do we still have those glasses that we used once?”

Sam thought about it but eventually shook his head. “If we do, they are at the bunker.”

“Great. So, no one can see the Hellhound except Jameson here.”

From behind Dean, Constantine clicked his tongue. “Not quite true.”

“What?”

“I can see them.”

Both Sam and Dean stared at Constantine, who grinned at their expressions. Then Dean found his voice. “How?”

Constantine tilted his head and spun the lighter in his hand. “Long story. Too long for now.”

Dean was about to ask what he meant by that but that's when they heard a crash that came from the direction of the lobby. A quick glance on the clock on the mantelpiece told Dean that it could not have been Jameson's staff. They had left about ten minutes ago.

“Just stay calm, Jameson.” Sam insisted. “We'll handle this somehow.”

They heard a sniffing sound, like a dog pushing its nose against the bottom of the door, where the salt was spread on the other side. Dean was just about to call it a win, because apparently the salt was really keeping the Hellhound outside for a bit longer, but then something crashed into the door from the other side with such force that several bookshelves on the wall lost their contents.

Jameson was pale as he stared at the door. Some of the salt had moved, the line getting thinner as the Hellhound crashed into the door a second time. Sam pulled out the knife, Constantine gave it a small, hopeful look but then seemed to change his mind.

“Get ready. It won't take long for it to get through. Sam, you got the knife, so it's your job to protect Jameson, got it?” Sam nodded, not even questioning Constantine, and stepped in front of Jameson. Then Constantine turned towards Dean. “You want to play the bait?”

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” Dean deadpanned. “Why would I play the bait?”

“'Cause you don't have a choice.” Constantine pointed out and threw his lighter over to Dean who caught it before it could hit the ground. Another 'bang' came from the door. It wouldn't hold for much longer. Constantine looked over to Sam and then back to Dean. “Just do what I tell you, a'right?”

“Why should I trust you?” Dean hissed, remembering Cas' warning.

“I never said you should. But it certainly wouldn't hurt.”

In that moment the door caved in. Constantine's eyes were fixed on the Hellhound that only he could see and he lunged forward to throw himself at the beast. He tumbled to the ground with his invisible adversary and struggled not to be pushed to the ground. Red streaks appeared on his white shirt where the claws on the Hound were digging into him.

“Constantine!” Dean yelled, throwing caution in the wind, because he couldn't just stand and watch the man die. “What do I do?”

“Knife!” Constantine yelled back, his yell followed by a sound of agony, when the Hellhound's teeth found their way into his arm.

Dean didn't waste any time. He grabbed the knife from Sam and jumped over the couch to reach Constantine. He hesitated for only a second before ramming the knife into the general area of where he thought the Hellhound had to be.

And the knife cut through skin and fur. Dean could feel the heat that the Hound emitted as he touched the greasy fur for a split second before pulling the knife out. The beast howled in pain and let go of Constantine, who hurried to get up and back away, pulling Dean with him.

“Give me the knife!” Constantine demanded and Dean did what he was told.

The exorcist grabbed the knife, spun it around in his hand once and stood between Dean and the Hellhound. Dean could see the runes on the knife glow once again in Constantine's hand. The Hellhound charged again but Constantine swung the knife and judging by the yelp that came from the Hound, he had hit his target spot on.

“Winchester, listen to me.” Constantine's voice was strained and Dean looked with worry upon Constantine's bleeding arm and torso. “Get inside the salt circle with Jameson.” He pushed the knife at Dean who took it but remained where he was. “What are you bloody waiting for?!”

“Inside the circle?”

“Are you deaf?”

Dean ceased to argue and hastily made his way across the room to join Jameson in the circle. Sam was unarmed and backed away to the windows to stay out of the fight. He pulled out his gun but Dean knew just as good as Sam that it wouldn't be of much help, if he had nothing to aim it at.

“What now, Constantine?” Dean shouted.

The exorcist had his eyes fixed on a single spot on the floor. The Hellhound seemed to be seriously injured, if it wasn't attacking but Dean also knew from experience that those beasts were fast healers. “When I tell you to,” Constantine said, his voice eerily calm, “both of you get out of the circle immediately. Until then, you are the bait. Lure it into the salt circle.”

“How do you know it will go after me?”

“Because you have the damn knife!”

Dean couldn't argue with that. “What exactly is your plan?”

“I'm improvising.” Constantine spat out, then he tensed and took a couple steps backwards. “Get ready. Here it comes!” He quickly shrugged out of his trench coat and stood behind the circle, behind Dean and Jameson, who was shaking terribly with everything that was happening.

Dean could hear the growling of the Hound and he swallowed once to calm himself down, trying not to think about the fact that a gigantic Hellhound was just about to attack him and he couldn't even see that damn thing.

Then he heard it charge towards him. Jameson tried to make a run for it but Dean held him by his arm- “Not yet.” He said through gritted teeth. But he wanted to get out just as bad. This was taking too long. The Hellhound was almost there. “ _Constantine?!_ ”

“ _Now!_ ”

Dean jumped out of the circle pulling Jameson along, as Constantine stepped forward, one hand outstretched towards the circle.

Dean watched in shock as Constantine flicked his hand and that hand suddenly caught on fire. Bright, orange flames that burned with a heat Dean could feel from meters away. Constantine dropped the ball of fire onto the ring of salt that immediately started burning, the fire racing both ways around the circle until a ring of fire was burning on the ground. The flames burned high, too high for it to be normal. The heat was unbearable and it made Dean shiver at the same time with memories it brought back.

This wasn't just fire. This was _Hellfire_.

And Constantine was throwing around with it as if it was a plaything.

A smirk showed on the exorcist's face. “Gotcha, you bastard!” He crouched down and held his hand through the flames inside the circle. Dean could hear the whine of the animal, it sounded like it was being tortured. “Not such a big bad dog after all.” Constantine murmured and then looked up at Dean. “Knife?” He asked.

Dean held it out to him, his eyes never leaving Constantine's. “What are you?” That question might not have been exactly what he had wanted to ask but it cam close enough.

“I don't think you want to know.” Was the answer he got before Constantine took the knife and stepped into the circle. He held down the invisible Hound with one hand, the whines and yelps getting louder, and then sliced the knife across the throat of the Hellhound that let out his last breaths with a gurgling noise.

The fire around him died just as suddenly as it had appeared and Constantine let out a loud sigh and then a groan, probably as he realized how much his wounds were actually hurting now that the adrenaline was fading.

“Well, that didn't go exactly as planned, now did it?” He asked but no one answered. All the other men were staring at him with a mixture of shock, disbelief and maybe even fear. “What?”

“You got some serious explaining to do.”

“I just saved your sodding asses and I'm the only one who got hurt, so right now I don't have to explain anything.” He pressed a hand into his side where he was bleeding profusely, then grabbed his coat and his bag with the other. “Good night, sir. Terribly sorry, if we caused you any trouble. Oh, and this is my card. Has my number on it. That demon _will_ collect your soul, if it's the last thing it does. You'll need us. This isn't over.” And with that he limped out the door.

 

Sam and Dean stepped outside the main doors fifteen minutes later, surprised to find Constantine leaning against the gate, waiting for them.

“Well, as I walked down this ridiculously long driveway I realized that I have trouble walking on my own and that I am in serious need of some medical attention. If it isn't too much to ask,” Constantine showed a pained grin, “I would like you to stitch me up.”

Dean found himself agreeing immediately.

After all that guy had really just saved them, no matter how he did it. Even though, it sort of freaked Dean out that this guy could apparently control Hellfire, again, it also intrigued him. There was so much he didn't know about Constantine and he was determined to find out.

“Thank you. For whatever stunt you pulled in there.” Dean said quietly as Sam and himself half-carried the exorcist down the street towards the subway station.

“I told you, you could trust me.” Constantine said with a smirk that Dean could see from the corner of his eye.

“Sorry, for doubting that.” Sam apologized.

“So,” Dean began, “you really are the _Hellblazer._ ”

Constantine groaned. “Oh, don't bloody start calling me that.”

“Of course not, Hellblazer.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, this one took me a while but I guess I'm sort of satisfied.  
> Let me know what you think, it means the world to me.  
> And if anyone was wondering, all chapter titles are either song titles or lyrics.


	5. Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

“Jesus fucking—”

Constantine cried out but bit his lip before the rest of it could slip out. “I should have never agreed to letting _you_ stitch me up. You treat my wounds like a construction worker would, you know?”

Dean quickly poked the needle through the skin again and watched Constantine close his eyes and press his lips together tightly. The exorcist had complained about the pain ever since the first stitch but he was holding perfectly still, never flinching, never screaming. So Dean knew that this was not the first time the exorcist had been sewn back together, whether by someone else or he had done it himself. The pain of it was probably not bothering him, either. He just liked to annoy and insult Dean.

“A construction worker, huh?”

“Has someone explained the concept of metaphors to you by now? If not, that was one.” Constantine pointed out.

Dean shook his head at Constantine's ridiculous sense of humor but couldn't help the smile that showed on his lips.

“Give me the bottle, would you?”

Dean frowned at Constantine’s request but handed him the bottle of whiskey that he’d used to sterilize the wound. Constantine took the bottle and in one swift movement popped the lid of it and put it to his lips to take a long swig. He gave Dean a questioning look, when he noticed that Dean was watching him but Dean quickly went back to stitching the skin on the magician’s arm together.

He felt Cas’ eyes burn holes in his back. Metaphorically speaking-- because yes, he did know what a metaphor was, despite Constantine thinking otherwise-- but still Dean felt the angel’s eyes linger on him as he carefully pulled the thread through the skin again. Cas hadn’t said a word so far, not since they’d returned to the motel with a bleeding and swearing exorcist who could barely stand on his own. He really didn’t seem too happy about Constantine’s presence.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Constantine stated. “Hellhound bite your tongue off?”

“No, I’m trying to concentrate. If I wasn’t, my hand might slip and I’d accidentally poke the needle into your eye.”

Constantine laughed at that but he stopped complaining. Instead he kept taking sips from the bottle.

Sam came back then. He’d been outside at the car, looking for more bandages in the trunk while Dean took care of Constantine’s wounds. “These should be long enough to wrap around your torso.” He dropped the bandages on the table in front of Constantine, who nodded his thanks. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” Constantine assured him. “Don’t want to take advantage of your hostility, now do I? I’ll get back to my hotel as soon as your brother is done poking me.” He grinned at Sam and then his eyes found Cas, who was still quietly observing the whole scene.

When Cas noticed that Constantine had caught him staring, he quickly turned to look somewhere else. However, Constantine kept staring at him and Cas looked more uncomfortable with every passing second. Eventually he got up, just as Dean was about to bandage Constantine’s arm. “I’m going to get some fresh air. I’ll be right outside.”

Dean’s eyes followed Cas as he made his way to the door. he didn’t know why Cas was acting the way he did. He could only guess that it had something to do with Constantine being around but he had to admit that even though he wasn’t exactly on best terms with the guy, either, he could manage. It was only temporary, right? So, why was Cas making such a big deal out of it? Dean had never seen the angel distrust anyone this much. It was getting weird.

Constantine seemed to think so, too. “Your angel doesn’t like me.”

Dean sighed as he fixated the bandage on the exorcist’s arm. “Obviously. But for the last time, he’s not _my_ angel.”

“Of course, he is. Why else would he stick around?”

“Because he’s our friend.”

“Your friend who happens to be an angel.” Constantine sounded like he was implying something more than he said. “That makes him _your_ angel as far as I’m concerned.”

“What does it matter to you?” When he didn’t get an answer, Dean picked up Constantine’s shirt from the floor, the blood on which had almost dried, and threw it at Constantine who caught it just before it hit his face. “There, all done.”

“Ta for that.” He pulled on the shirt but left it unbuttoned. Dean could still see his tattoos on his hip and the one on his left forearm. Those weren’t the only ones on the exorcist’s body. There had been another one on his back, a triangle, and then one on his right shoulder. Constantine had been lucky that the claws of the Hellhound hadn’t destroyed that tattoo. Dean had come to the conclusion that the tattoos weren’t just meaningless body art. They probably were similar to the anti-possession tattoo Sam and him had, protecting Constantine from the supernatural in several ways or maybe even enhancing his own magic.

Constantine pulled his phone from one of the pockets in his trench coat, scrolled through the contacts and selected one before holding the phone to his ear. When it was answered, Dean could have sworn it was a woman’s voice on the other end and judging by Constantine’s expression, he had just reached his least favorite person in the world.

“No, Renée, the pleasure's all mine.” Constantine said all too sweetly and rolled his eyes at the same time. “Now would you please hand the phone over to your beloved husband?” Apparently the woman refused, which only made Constantine’s voice sound more strained. “Renée, we both soddin’ know that this is Chas’ phone and I wouldn’t call him in the middle of the night, if it wasn’t important, now would I?” A pause. “Yeah, you’re right, I would and this isn’t  an emergency. But I do sorta need his--” He stopped abruptly and stared at his phone, then at Dean and Sam. “That bitch hung up on me.” He said with disbelief.

“Maybe you should have watched your language a bit more.” Dean suggested.

“You should have heard some of the vocabulary she used. The lasse is quite creative when it comes to finding new ways to insult me.”

“I take it, you’re not on the best terms with Chas’ wife then?” Sam asked and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“You could say that. Maybe that’s because Chas chose to help me with what I do instead of staying with his family. And maybe also because of what _I_ did to Chas.” He trailed off  without explaining any further. “But yeah, Renée, she’s a real sunshine, that one.”

“You don’t say.” Dean said  in exaggerated wonder. “Coming from you that really means something.”

“Now come on, I know I’m not the nicest bloke you’ve ever met but I do me best.”

“I see.”

Constantine grinned at Dean, one of those grins that always made Dean feel like he was missing something. “Seeing as Chas probably won’t pick me up, I’ll go and find another cab. I would hate to bother you any longer.”

“You were not a bother.” Sam protested. “You saved our lives and we saved you from bleeding to death. I guess we’re even for now. Just one thing: tomorrow you explain what the hell you did back there, yeah?”

Constantine smirked and shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, mate.” The magician chuckled quietly as he picked up his belongings and half walked, half limped out of the door, not looking back once.

When the door fell closed, Dean looked at Sam from the side. “To me that sounded an awful lot like ‘do I look like I give a fuck?’, but maybe that’s just my interpretation.”

“Shut up and go get Cas back inside. Otherwise he’ll probably spend the entire night outside, if that means avoiding you and Constantine.”

“What did _I_ do? Constantine’s the one he can’t stand.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Now go get him.”

* * *

_A Moment of Sam_

Sometimes Dean really seemed to be as perceptive as a pot plant.

To Sam it looked like his brother really didn’t know that it wasn’t just Constantine Cas hated. Cas hated the way Dean treated that arrogant exorcist, who so very obviously wasn’t the right person to trust. And Cas knew Constantine’s reputation.

Dean thought it was fun to banter with Constantine. He pretended to hate the guy but he voluntarily stitched his wounds. He simply ignored all the warning signs and it made Sam somewhat furious.

He had never seen Dean let down his guard so quickly with any other hunter they had met. Not that Dean had let it down completely but it was just enough to peek through.

All that wouldn’t  have even mattered that much, if it wasn’t for Cas caring about Sam’s brother so much. If you’d ask Sam, it was obvious that there was something more than friendship between the angel and Dean. Sam had noticed it some time ago. By now he was pretty sure that, if Dean was gay, Cas and him would instantly hit it off. Sam just wished, Dean would notice Cas had a thing for him and tell him that he simply wasn’t interested in guys. Or angels.

 

* * *

 

When Dean went outside he couldn’t see Cas right away. He figured the angel probably walked around a bit to pass the time.

“Cas?” he called out but he didn’t get an answer. He took a few steps into the parking lot of the motel and looked around until suddenly he saw something on the ground next to the Impala. At first he thought it was just a coat but then realized that it was a person.

“Cas?!” Dean hurried over to the angel that was apparently unconscious. A trickle of blood was coming from his nose, his eyes were closed and he didn’t show any reaction, either to Dean’s voice or to Dean shaking him gently. “Come on, Cas, wake up.”

But he didn’t.

“No, Cas, I can’t lose you now. Not like this. Not ever. Please.” Dean pleaded. “I need you, Cas.”

He cupped Cas' cheek with one hand and noticed then that the angel was still breathing. Relief flooded through him and he hurried to scoop Cas' limp body into his arms. He had not expected him to be this heavy; after all angels didn't eat. But he managed to safely lift him up and he quickly made his way back to the open door of their room.

"Sam?" He yelled before putting Cas down on his bed.

Sam came stumbling out of the small bathroom and froze when he saw Castiel lying there, totally still and unresponsive.  "What happened to him?" He breathed out.

"He must have fainted.  From exhaustion maybe, I don't know." Dean ran both hands through his hair. "He's not waking up, Sam. What do we do? He's dying."

"Don't worry, we'll find a way to save him."

"Are we though? How? We've been running in circles, Sam. For months now. How many of our problems have we solved, huh? Where have we made any progress?" His voice got louder with his building frustration. "I _still_ have the damn Mark. Cas is  _still_ dying and we are nowhere close to saving Adam."

“Are you saying this is my fault?”

“No…” Dean took a deep breath. He hadn’t meant to accuse Sam of anything. After all it was just as much Sam’s fault as it was his own. Or maybe it just wasn’t their fault at all. Maybe there was simply nothing they _could_ do.

Fate was a bitch, they knew that much.

“We’ll call someone for help. There has to be someone who knows something.” Sam said as he bit his lip and looked down at Cas with worry. “Maybe we can find another angel. What about the one that follows Constantine around? Manny?”

“I thought he made it pretty clear that he won’t intervene."

“It might be worth a try.”

Dean nodded, his thoughts absent and trying to think of anything they hadn’t tried, yet. Constantine had said that restoring Cas’ grace was possible, if they found some of it. And that was a big ‘if’ because with Metatron locked up in heaven the chances of finding Cas’ grace were close to non-existent.

But they had to try. Even if it called for desperate measures.

Or maybe…

“What about Crowley?” Dean asked suddenly. “He might know something. He’s the only one who we haven’t talked to about this and he knows more about angels that he would like to admit.”

Sam looked rather skeptical. “Do you really want to involve Crowley in all this? I mean, technically we’re on opposite sides with the guy. A couple years ago we would have never worked with a demon.”

“Times change. _I_ was a demon. For months. And what other choice do we have? And now don’t say Constantine, ‘cause no matter what he thinks of himself, he’s not all powerful.”

Sam seemed rather hesitant. He took a deep breath before answering and a crease showed on his forehead. "You hate Crowley. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Anything but. What choice do we have, though?"

"Alright, fine. We'll call Crowley for help."

Dean nodded and finally averted his eyes from Cas as he went to grab his phone. His finger hovered over Crowley’s name for several long moments. Should he really do this? After all, he hated that demon for what he had done to him. He had sworn to never come near Crowley again and now this?

Eventually he pressed the ‘call’ button and put the phone on speaker so that Sam would be able to listen as well. After only a couple of rings it was picked up.

“Squirrel? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m not calling to check on your wellbeing, if that’s what you think, Crowley.” Dean informed the demon. “We need your help.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Dean and Sam could hear Crowley sending someone else out of the room. Then he held the phone to his ear again. “You must be quite desperate, if you’re coming to me with this. What could possibly be so important and hopeless that you chose to call me?”

Dean hesitated. “Cas is dying.” He said firmly.

“Of course. What was I thinking?” Crowley sounded rather bored. “I was under the impression that this issue was common knowledge by now. He’s been dying ever since he lost his grace. So, why do you want my help now?”

“Because he’s gotten worse. He’s not waking up anymore and we _need_  to do something. He doesn’t have much time left.”

“And you seriously think that _I_ am going to help save your angel?”

Sam sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Forget it, Dean. We can find someone else, someone who actually wants to help.”

“Listen to the moose, squirrel. He has a point.”

Dean bit his lip. “You listen to me now, Crowley. You are the reason I have this fucking Mark on my arm and you are also the reason for my killing spree as a Knight of Hell a few weeks back, so I have every reason to hunt you down and put an end to your sorry existence. I will do just that eventually, trust me. But I am willing to make a deal. You help us save Cas and I will leave you alone. Forever. If not, you bet your ass, I will come for you.”

Crowley seemed to weigh his options for a few moments before answering. “You have yourself a deal.”

“New York. Pelham Garden Motel. Come as fast as you can.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow. I’ve got business to attend to. Sorry.” And with that Crowley hung up.

Dean fought the urge to throw his phone against the wall. “That son of a bitch could be here right this second. What the hell is he thinking?”

“You know he doesn’t care.” Sam said quietly. Then, “Why did you make that deal? You want him dead, so why promise to never go after him?”

“Well, I’m the one who made that deal and it explicitly only mentioned me. You on the other hand can go after that bastard whenever you want to.” Dean smiled when he saw Sam putting the pieces together. “See? I can play that game, too.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder appreciatively before clearing his throat. “Looks like one of us will be sleeping on the couch tonight.” He motioned over to the occupied bed. “We need to let him rest there.”

“You take the other bed.” Dean said. “I don’t think I can sleep tonight.”

Sam nodded. “Wake me, if you change your mind.”

* * *

When the sun rose, Dean found that he had fallen asleep despite his efforts not to. He was sitting on the floor, cramped in the space between the two beds, leaning against the bed Sam had been sleeping in. Dean’s body ached from spending all that time in one position and he stretched his arms before moving to stand up.

Sam was still fast asleep. Cas hadn’t moved an inch. Dean wasn’t exactly sure whether that was a good thing or not but eventually decided that it really wasn’t. Cas had to wake up sooner or later, otherwise Dean feared that the angel wouldn't have much time left.

Carefully, Dean laid his hand on Cas’ forehead. It wasn’t hot or feverish, if anything Dean would have said it was rather cold. He proceeded to check the pulse only to find a steady, though somewhat slow heartbeat.

Cas wasn't dead yet, so Dean wasn't about to give up. He just wished that Crowley would hurry the fuck up.

Suddenly he heard a phone vibrate.  The sound of the vibration on wood was loud and Sam woke up immediately, pulling out the knife from beneath his pillow and looking around for any possible threat.

 _We are so not okay_ , Dean thought to himself, knowing that he would have reacted the exact same way, if he’d still been asleep. With a shake of his head he hurried to pick up the phone from the table. It was a call and he knew that number, even though he had not saved it in his contacts. Not yet.

“Hellblazer!” He said with fake glee and grinned widely. “What can I do to help?”

“Two things.” Constantine said. “One: Stop calling me that or I’ll stuff that stupid name down your throat until you choke on it, so help me God.” Dean smirked. That was a win. “Two: I was planning on finally locating the soul sucker. So, are you lads okay with me coming over to get this done?”

“There might be a little problem.” Dean said as he bit his lip.

“Define little.”

Dean sighed and  looked over to Cas. “Castiel won’t be able to help you locate the demon. He’s been unconscious since last night. We called for help that should be here over the course of the day.” He paused and took a deep breath, glancing at Sam, who had calmed down after his sudden waking and was now listening quietly. “We need to fix him. This has priority right now. Sorry.”

“I understand that. Do you mind me coming over anyways? I might be able to help.”

Dean wanted to say ‘no’, he wanted Constantine to stay out of this but he found that he couldn’t just turn down the exorcist’s help. “Yes, alright. Come over.”

“I’ll be on my way.” Constantine hung up without saying goodbye and Dean put the phone down.

“So, you got him involved, too.” Sam said as a matter of fact.

“What was I supposed to do?” Dean asked defiantly. “I had to tell him about Cas. And, I mean, he told us that he’d help find his grace.”

“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have. He _does_ know what he’s doing, even if he’s sort of a dick about it.” Sam said with a shrug. “Let’s just hope he and Crowley won’t bash each other’s heads in.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Only about half an hour later there was a first knock on the door. Dean got up to open it, finding Constantine outside with his bag in hand.

“You got here fast.” Dean observed without any sort of greeting.

Constantine gave half a nod. “Yeah, I was on my way anyways.” He looked up and down Dean’s body once and then tilted his head. “Are you going to let me in?”

Dean stepped to the side and Constantine walked past him, way closer to Dean than he had to and Dean could feel the Mark on his arm tingle. What the hell was that about? Dean swore to himself he’d find out why it reacted as soon as he could.

He watched Constantine as he slowly walked over to the bed Cas was still lying on, ignoring Sam somewhat entirely before dropping his bag on a nearby chair.

“He’s been like this since yesterday, you say?” Dean nodded in answer and he saw Constantine bite his tongue. He hoped that whatever the exorcist wasn’t saying wasn’t immensely important. In fact, he wished that Constantine would just straight out say what he thought.

“Can you do anything? To wake him up, maybe?” Sam asked from behind him.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t be of help when it comes to waking him up. The only thing that can really help him at this point would be his grace, I’d say.” He turned around swiftly to face Dean. “Who did you call for help? Do you know another angel?”

“No, it’s not an angel.” Dean shook his head. “We asked Crowley for help.”

The look Dean received from Constantine at that was borderline pitying. “Christ on a bike, what is wrong with you? You can’t be bloody serious. You asked _the King of Hell_  to help you save your angel friend?”

Dean crossed his arms defiantly. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have.”

“I could give you about fourteen.”

“Very funny.”

“I mean it. Crowley has no way of saving him, either.” Constantine emphasized.

“I don’t care.” Dean responded. “If he can’t save Cas himself, I’ll have him find someone who can. Fuck it, I’ll make someone break into Heaven’s prison to drag Metatron’s ass down here, if I have to. Don’t you get it? I’ll save Cas, if it’s the last thing I do and I don’t care how far I have to go.”

He was surprised with himself for saying that. Was he really willing to give up everything for the angel? Maybe, yes.

His thoughts were interrupted by another knock on the door. Constantine glanced at Dean and then at the door. He showed his trademark grin and sat down on a chair in the corner of the room, leaning back comfortably and placing his feet on the table. His face was smug, like he knew exactly what was going to happen, if someone opened that door. “This is going to be fun.” He said and _winked_ at Dean.

Dean took a deep breath and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sam got up to open the door, checking the back pocket of his jeans for his gun. Just to be sure.

Crowley stood outside, wearing the same suit as always, his hands in his pockets and his expression somewhere between indifference and annoyance. “Moose.” He said in greeting. “How lovely of you to invite me over.”

Sam didn’t answer. He simply stepped aside to invite Crowley in. However, as Crowley took a step forward, he found that his foot wouldn’t move past the threshold. He tried to push through the invisible barrier with his hand but to no avail. Something was keeping him out.

“What the hell is this?” Crowley asked with a resigned sigh. “You ask me for help and then shield this place against demons? What are you playing at?”

“We didn’t shield this place.” Sam said, his expression confused.

“Oh, right, that might have been my doing.” Constantine chimed in. Crowley’s eyes found the exorcist and his indifferent expression immediately turned into anger. Constantine just smiled and tilted his head. “Well, well. Long time no see, Fergus.”

“ _You_!” Crowley pointed a finger at Constantine accusingly. “You have some nerve sitting there, all smug and proud!” He then proceeded to point at Dean. “And you never said that _bastard_ would be involved!”

“Undo the spell or whatever it is that’s keeping him out.” Dean told Constantine.

“Can’t. Sorry, I must have forgotten how.” Constantine shrugged.

“Oh, he knows damn well what’s coming for him, if I get in. There are several people, including me, waiting their turn to pay _John Constantine_ back for what he’s done.” Crowley spat out the name as if it was a disease. “And there he is--”

“Always one step ahead of you.” Constantine grinned and stood up. He walked over to the door, now only half a meter away from Crowley. “Just so you know, your _majesty_ , I don’t fear what’s coming for me.”

“Maybe you should. Nergal is coming for you.”

Dean saw a flicker of uncertainty and anger on Constantine’s face but it was gone just as fast as it has appeared. Constantine leaned forward a little, even closer to Crowley now and whispered, “I hope he finds me. I’ll make him pay for taking Astra.”

“Alright, you two, break it up.” Dean said and pushed Constantine away from the door. “Our deal has priority right now, Crowley. I don’t care about whatever Constantine’s done to piss you off. You promised you’d help, so help!”

Crowley pressed his lips together tightly but he held his hands up in surrender and took a step away from the door. “Fine. As you wish. I need a piece of his vessel. Hair preferably.”

Sam only hesitated for a second before making his way over to Cas and pulling out a few of his hairs. He held them in his closed fist as he stood before Crowley. “What do you need them for? What’s your plan?”

“I am going to find Metatron in Heaven, free him, then hold him prisoner somewhere, torture him until he divulges the location of any remaining grace and then use the hair to find it. Because the vessel will _want_  to find the angel’s grace.” Crowley explained.

“Sounds like a plan, I guess.” Sam said and took a step outside, handing the hair to Crowley.

“How do you plan on getting to Heaven?” Dean asked. “I thought it was impossible for a demon to go there.”

“That’s why it won’t be _me_ going to Heaven. One of you two will be coming with me.”

Of course, there was a catch. Dean had known from the beginning that it wouldn’t be that easy. “Alright, I’m coming with you.” After all, this was to save Cas.

“Nah, not you. I’d much rather have moose with me.” And with that Crowley took a hold of Sam, who was still outside the room and not shielded anymore. Before anyone could say another word, Sam and Crowley were gone.

“ _Sam_!” Dean called out. “Sam!”

“That won’t bring him back.” Constantine said quietly.

“You, shut your mouth!” Dean said angrily. “It’s not like you were of any help.” He ran his hands through his hair.

Great. Just great. Another problem added to the pile. Just what he needed. With Sam gone, how was he going to handle any of this?

“If it is of any help, I assure you that he will bring Sam back in one piece.” The exorcist assured.

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because if there’s anyone on this sorry planet the King of Hell wouldn’t want to piss off, it’s me and you.”

“Let’s hope you’re right about that.” Dean said, slammed the door shut and fell down on the chair Constantine had been sitting on earlier.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean for this to happen, you know?”

Dean didn’t answer straight away. Of course, he knew that this wasn’t Constantine’s fault. And yeah, he was like 75% sure that Crowley wouldn’t harm Sam. But still, it sucked. “I know.”

“We’ll have to wait for them to return with Castiel’s grace. In the meantime…” Constantine walked over to the angel, stretched his arms and cracked his neck to the left once. Then he held out both hands over the motionless body of Castiel and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked carefully.

“Shh!”

Constantine started humming words in a strange rhythm. It was no language Dean had ever heard and it sounded extraneous. With a small ‘ping’ the lightbulb of the lamp on the night stand exploded, the rest of the lights in the room started flickering. It made Dean rather nervous, to be quite honest, but he didn’t interrupt the magician.

With a sharp intake of breath, Constantine opened his eyes and lowered his hands. He staggered backwards until he sat down on the bed. Apparently whatever he’d just done, had taken quite a toll on him.

“What was that?”

Constantine smiled weakly. “A little magic trick. I froze him. Preserved him, so to say. His state won’t change until I break the spell. He won’t get worse or better. That will give us time to find his  grace and heal him.”

Dean opened his mouth but it took him a second to get out what he wanted to say. “Thank you.”

“Thank me, when we’ve saved him, a’right?”

Dean just nodded. He was more than relieved, though. Cas would be safe until they had found a way to heal him. That alone was enough to lessen the weight on his shoulders.

“So, Winchester. What do you say we continue to work this case? Just us two now against all of those nasty bastards out there.” Constantine showed a devilish smile and Dean couldn’t help but return it, even if his smile was rather weak.

“I wouldn’t say no to battling demons with the Hellblazer.”

“Keep it up, Winchester, and it’ll be your undoing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well. That might get interesting. Leave your thoughts on what you would want to happen?


	6. To Join The Black Parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for minor character death.

The diner Dean was now sitting in was noisy and sort of crowded for this time of day but it brought a welcome distraction. Constantine was sitting across the table from him, half-heartedly picking fries up from the plate between them. Dean himself wasn’t eating anything. It felt wrong to just sit here while Sam was out there with Crowley somewhere doing who knows what.

But what else could he do? No matter how much he hated waiting, he couldn’t deny that he was powerless in the matter. Crowley was the only chance at saving Cas  they had right now.

“Stop sulking, Winchester. It won’t do any of us any good. And to be quite honest, that pensive look you’ve got going on is making me uncomfortable.” Constantine dropped the fry he had in hand back on the plate and leaned back in his chair. “Things are going to work out fine. They always do. Well, mostly always.”

“You’re awfully optimistic.”

“No, you’re just awfully pessimistic.”

“Whatever.” Dean said with a sigh, his eyes wandering around the diner. “What exactly are we doing here, anyways?”

“Waiting for Chas. He’ll be here shortly.” Constantine looked out on the street at the people walking by.

The city was vibrant with life, something Dean really wasn’t used to. It gave him a headache that made him miss the peace and quiet of the bunker. Constantine didn’t seem to be very fond of the city, either, but Dean had guessed that it was rather a case of an Englishman in New York. The exorcist seemed out of place with his accent and his love for tea. You really just had to look at him to know that he was not from here.

“Care to answer a couple of questions while we wait for Chandler?” Dean leaned forward, his elbows on the table and looking at Constantine expectantly.

“By all means, ask away.”

“Okay, then, first of all,” Dean began, “You could see the Hellhound. How?”

“That’s part of a longer story. Got any easier questions before I start on this one?”

Dean shrugged. “Tell me about the Hellfire, then.” It took him some willpower to get that sentence out, mostly because he wasn’t sure, whether he wanted to know the answer.

Constantine smirked but Dean could see it was tense. “What about the Hellfire?”

“Don’t even start avoiding my questions, alright? I don’t know any ordinary magician that could simply play with Hellfire like a kid does with fucking soap bubbles.”

“You make me sound like a pretentious dickhead.”

“You have yet to prove to me that you’re not.”

Constantine looked down at his hands on the table and bit his lip before carefully choosing his words. “Something happened a while back that affected me in certain ways. It is the reason why I can see the Hellhounds and why I can throw around with Hellfire.” He paused and settled back in his seat before looking back up at Dean. “About 25 years back, I got into a little accident and was hospitalized. I was in rather bad shape.” Constantine grimaced at that. “Then one thing came to another and a demon called Nergal decided I was to play an important role in whatever plan he had. He needed me fixed, so he fixed me.”

Dean frowned. “How?”

“He gave me a blood transfusion. Now you’ve experienced first-hand what demon blood does to a person with your brother Sam. The effects on Sam were only temporary because he drank the blood. I, on the other hand, have it running through my veins still.”

“Right.” Dean said with a sharp nod. The whole thing sounded like a made-up story but Dean was pretty sure Constantine was being serious. One thing was bugging him, though. “What did that Nergal need a ten-year-old for?”

“Pardon?”

“You said, all that happened about 25 years ago. You don’t look much older than 35.” Dean said with a slight tilt of his head.

Constantine looked at Dean for a second before bursting out laughing. “I’m quite a bit older than I look, luv. Another effect of the demon blood.”

“Like how old?”

“Well,” Constantine grinned, “Your old man came to me, when you were just a kid. If I was around 35 like yourself, I’d have been a five-year-old back then.”

“Then how old were you? How old are you now?” Dean repeated his question.

Constantine shook his head. “Consider it a challenge to find out.” Apparently that was the best answer Dean would get and he let it go. For now. He promised himself that he’d figure it out sooner or later.

Instead of dwelling on it, he moved on to another question. “So, then the reason why the Mark reacts, when you’re close, is also the demon blood running in your veins.”

Constantine gave a vague shrug. “Probably. How does it react?”

“Hard to explain. I’m not so sure, whether it wants me to kill you or not.”

“Most people face that decision, when dealing with me, to be honest.” The exorcist admitted.

“I wonder why.”

Constantine genuinely smiled. “Your sarcasm is refreshing. I have yet to encounter anyone else who talks back to me.”

Dean could have sworn that Constantine sounded somewhat admiring as he said that. He shrugged in response. “You deserve to be talked back to.”

“True.”

They were silent for several minutes, in which Constantine finished the plate of fries between them. Dean kept looking to the door, waiting to see Chas walk in but so far there hadn’t been any trace of the man. Eventually Dean continued his interrogation.

“So, what else can you do? What are the extends of your power?”

“I’m afraid you have a wrong image of me in your mind. The truth is, I avoid using magic as much as possible. Mostly because it always comes with a price. Additionally, it’s exhausting and fucking dangerous most of the time. I usually prefer manipulation to magic.” Constantine explained. “What you’ve seen me do the last few days is probably more magic than I’ve done in the last couple of months combined.”

“But what _could_ you do?”

Constantine hesitated but then quietly replied. “If I wanted to, I could do a lot of things. It goes from simple magic like spells, illusions and divination to more complicated stuff, telepathy and mind control. I know exorcisms and summonings of various kinds as well.” He shrugged and then added, “I also know my way around black magic. Curses and the like. Also necromancy but I’m not an expert on that one. That is as far as my actual magic goes. The rest are just magic tricks.”

Dean was quite a bit star-struck with what Constantine had just revealed. This guy, this sarcastic son of a bitch in his trenchcoat, was rattling off this list of skills as if it was entirely normal to have them. This man probably was the most powerful magician Dean had encountered so far.

Dean’s thoughts were interrupted, when Chandler slid into the seat next to John. He looked like he had the last time Dean had seen him, a cap on his head, his face slightly grim-looking underneath his beard.

“Chas.” Constantine greeted him happily. “How’s the wife and the kid?”

Chas gave him a meaningful look. “Renée will probably refuse to talk to me for weeks for choosing to spend time with you rather than Geraldine. She doesn’t like you, that hasn’t changed.”

“I feel that Renée and I have a lot in common.” Dean commented and Constantine turned to give him an unimpressed look.

“You’d be lying, if you said you didn’t like me, Winchester. You’ve grown fond of me.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as saying that. So far you ain’t exactly my favorite person.”

Constantine shrugged. “Second favorite, then. I can live with that.” He _winked_ at Dean, who just blinked a couple times, sort of irritated. What was the guy trying to do?

“Alright then. Chop-chop, lads! We’ve got work to do.” Constantine suddenly said and got up in a swift movement. He made no move to wait for them but simply left the diner, his hands in the pockets of his coat as he whistled quietly.

Dean and Chas stayed behind for a couple seconds, staring at Constantine as he left, before quickly getting up to follow him. Luckily, Dean thought of paying for their meal and hastily dropped a couple bills on the table, then followed Chas out of the diner.

Constantine ended up leading them across the street into a smaller alley between two tall buildings and he steered straight towards a door that seemed to lead into a basement. There was no name-plate and no bell to ring, so Constantine hammered against the door.

When there was no answer, he kicked the door once in frustration. “Open up, Fennel, or I swear I’ll break down the door!”

It took a couple seconds but then they could hear shuffling behind the door. The door was unlocked and then opened but only a few inches wide. A rather unkempt-looking man appeared in those few inches and inspected the three men with distrustful eyes.

“Whatever you want, Constantine, you can shove it up your ass. I don’t want anything to do with you. You’re a thief and a liar. Probably a murderer, too, so fuck off and don’t ever show up here again.”

“Sorry, Fennel, no can do. You see, the problem is that I need your help and I won’t be leaving until you grant it to me. I need you to use your clairvoyant powers to find a demon for me.”

“I don’t work as a clairvoyant anymore. So sorry I couldn’t be of any help.”

Fennel was about slam the door shut but Constantine quickly stopped it with his foot. He leaned in towards Fennel and spoke in a more quiet voice. “You owe me, Fennel. Don’t forget that.”

“I owe you _nothing_.”

“I got you out of your deal, remember? Without me you’d be smoldering in Hell right now. So, now let us in and we’ll discuss this issue you’ll be helping me with.”

Reluctantly Fennel stepped back from the door and Constantine pushed it open further. Behind the door was a dark room crammed with furniture and a lot of junk lying around. Dean and Chas followed Constantine as he stepped inside, careful not to accidentally run into something. Fennel disappeared through a set of curtains into another room, Constantine close behind him. The second room was even smaller, just as dark but not as messy. There was a round wooden table in the middle, covered with half-empty bottles and surrounded by five mismatched chairs. It was clear to Dean that this man was most probably an alcoholic.

Fennel cleaned the table of the bottles -- storing them in a corner of the room for now -- and picked a couple of white candles out of a drawer. He placed them on the table in what seemed to be a circle at first but then he connected them by drawing a pentagram using a piece of chalk. Then he fell down in one of the chairs and glared at Constantine expectantly.

“Are we doing this or not? Come on, I want to get this over with.” Fennel said through gritted teeth. Constantine shrugged off his trench coat and sat down opposite of the other man. He motioned for Dean to sit down on his left and he did without questioning it. Chas remained standing near the entrance.

Fennel then raised an eyebrow at John. “We need the candles lit, _Hellblazer_.” He spat the word out as if it was poisonous. “Would you do us the honor?”

Constantine simply smirked and reached out towards the candle closest to himself. Dean sucked in a breath, fully expecting the magician to use the Hellfire again and Dean wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

Apparently that was exactly what Fennel had been expecting as well, judging by his dumbstruck expression when Constantine suddenly revealed the lighter in his hand where he’d hidden it all along-- it was a magic trick. Nothing else. He flicked it open and lit the candles one after the other, his face smug.

“Wouldn’t want to waste my precious energy, now would I?”

Fennel ignored him. He simply reached out to take Constantine’s and Dean’s hand to form a circle. “I suppose I’m channeling him?” He nodded towards Dean.

“Whoa, whoa!” Dean let go of Fennel’s hand immediately. “What do you mean, channeling me?”

“He’ll be using you as an amplifier for a kind of locator spell.” Constantine explained and shrugged. “It won’t hurt you, it might just leave you a bit exhausted afterwards.”

“Why me?”

“Well, I wanted to use the angel, didn’t I? Angelic power is a better amplifier but I had to improvise. You were the only other option. Although demonic power is just not the same, it will still work.”

“Demonic power?” Dean and Fennel asked simultaneously. And Dean added, “I’m not a demon anymore.”

Constantine nodded. “Yes, but you have the Mark of Cain.”

“He has _what_?!” Fennel stared at Dean in disbelief. “The Mark? You want me to channel the Mark of Cain? Are you insane? What kind of demon is this we’re looking for?”

Constantine sighed. “A powerful one. Now I assure you that channeling the Mark through Dean won’t be of any danger to you, Fennel. Just start the bloody spell, alright? I will control the direction the magic goes, you channel Dean and together we should be able to make this work.”

Fennel seemed hesitant but he reached for their hands again and closed his eyes. “So, you know what you’re looking for? You will find the demon, if I open my mind for the city of New York? Or do I need to reach further, like, the entire state?”

“No, no.” Constantine said and closed his eyes as well. “The city will be enough. I know it’s here.”

Fennel took a deep breath before starting to chant quietly under his breath. Dean couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying but he could feel something shift in the atmosphere of the room. _Magic_.

His sight became foggy and he blinked rapidly to regain his vision but to no avail. It became brighter and brighter up to the point where all Dean could see was white. There was a ringing sound in his ears that quickly became louder. Then, without any warning, a flood of images, sounds, smells and feelings hit him like freight train. He would have let go of Constantine’s hand, if the exorcist hadn’t held on to him like a lifeline. Dean could have sworn he heard Constantine say “Don’t!” but he couldn’t be sure; the images in his mind were overwhelming. He  wanted nothing more than to stop this but he had no means of doing so.

So he waited it out.

And it felt like forever.

Until all of it stopped abruptly and Dean was hit by a wave of energy that knocked him out of his chair. He could see the room around him again and he was rather dazed but something was definitely wrong.

The candles on the table were burning high, way too high to be normal. From the corner of his eye Dean could see Chas, who had a rather alarmed expression on his face as he watched the scene. Constantine was on the floor beside Dean. The sudden rush of energy had made him fall as well.

Constantine’s eyes were fixed on Fennel. The clairvoyant wasn’t sitting on his chair anymore, either. No, he was hovering a good three feet in the air, his arms stretched out wide and his mouth opened in a silent cry. His eyes were glowing bright white and they were fixed on Constantine. Then Fennel spoke in a voice that definitely wasn’t his own.

“ _I am not that easy to spy on, you mongrels. If you think you can mess with me, you are dead wrong. Don’t try to find me, you never will. And if you did, you would regret it._ ”

Fennel screamed. His body, still in the air, was shaking uncontrollably. His eyes had stopped glowing and for a short moment, Dean could see in them the agony the man was experiencing before Fennel’s eyes _burned_.

“No!” Constantine cried out but it was too late. Fennel’s lifeless body  fell to the ground, smoke slowly rising from his burned, empty eye-sockets. Dean saw Constantine close his eyes for several seconds, his fingers clenched so tightly that his knuckles became white. Then Constantine opened his eyes, looked over at Chas and shook his head with sorrow. “He’s gone.”

“Heaven or Hell?” Chas simply asked, his voice tight.

“Can’t tell. I wasn’t fast enough.”

Chas nodded. “May he rest in peace.” He paused. “So, was it all for nothing.”

“No, I got all I needed.” Constantine got up and offered Dean a hand, which he wordlessly accepted. he was still a bit out of it, the shock just added to that. It all reminded him of the séance with Pamela. Her eyes had burned as well when she had looked at Cas’ true form but it hadn’t killed her. This was different.

Constantine pushed Dean out of the room and then out onto the streets. “What are you doing?” Dean asked. “What about Fennel? Are you just going to leave his body there?”

“For now, yes.” Constantine stated. “But right now we’ve got more important things to do.”

“More important things? Your friend just _died_!”

“Yes, people around me seem to do that.” Constantine snapped and started walking away. Dean followed him, grabbed his arm and forcefully turned him around to face him.

“And you are just okay with that?!”

Constantine glared at him. “Of course I’m not! How could I be? Everyone around me dies and it’s my fault and you think I’m _okay with that_?” He ran a hand through his hair and then let out a frustrated scream. “Things like these happen to me all the fucking time and I can’t seem to stop them. I have gotten used to it, used to people dying because of what I do. But don’t ever think that I want any of it! I try to help. But I can’t.” He took a deep shaking breath. “The deaths of those people affect me more than I’d ever admit, trust me. I’ve simply gotten good at pretending they don’t.”

And he walked away again. This time Dean let him. As he watched Constantine walk away, Chas stepped up to him.

“I know, it might be trying at times to understand his reasoning but go easy on him, yeah? He has punished himself enough already. Newcastle and then Ravenscar, none of that ever leaves him.” Chas took a couple steps but then turned around again. “It might seem like he’s entirely unfazed but believe me, he’d never yell at anyone like that, if he wasn’t. What happened has shaken him. What that demon did-- he sounded scared… and nothing scares John.”

* * *

Dean had to take the subway back to the motel. Chas and Constantine had left in Chas’ cab without him, going God knows where and Dean had to admit that he didn’t feel like coming with them anyways.

No, what he had wanted to do was bury Fennel’s body. He wanted to give him any appropriate goodbye. He hadn’t known the guy and for the few minutes that Dean had gotten to know him he hadn’t seemed like the most likeable person but after all, he had only wanted to help. And he hadn’t deserved to die.

So Dean had gone back to where Fennel lived only to find that Constantine must have done something to the door. It was impossible to open. Dean had even tried breaking in with a crowbar but to no avail. In the end he had given up and had gone to find the nearest subway station.

On the way, he had tried calling Sam but Sam hadn’t answered. Neither had Crowley. He really hoped that whatever they were doing that they were safe. Losing Sam to this stupid mission was definitely the last thing he needed right now.

When he reached his motel room and stepped inside, he knew he was wrong.

The last thing he needed right now was Constantine lying on the couch, fast asleep.

Frustrated, Dean grabbed an empty plastic bottle from the table and threw it at the exorcist. It hit him right in the chest and Constantine woke with a groan.

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get in?”

“Do you really think I can’t pick a lock?”

“Get out.” Dean ordered. “Now!”

“Hey, hey. Wait. Look, I’m sorry.” Constantine sat up and held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry about earlier. I know I acted like a dick. I had no right to.”

Dean sighed. “Apology accepted. Now get out.”

Constantine showed a forced smile. “Be a good lad and let me stay for the night?”

“What?” This guy seriously had some nerve. “Why would you?”

“I need to renew the spell on Castiel from time to time. I’ll need to do it in the morning. It will wear off otherwise.”

“I thought, you said this would keep him safe until we find his grace.”

Constantine bit his lip. “I lied.”

“Great. Just great.” Dean said with a shake of his head. He shrugged of his jacket, kicked off his shoes and fell down on the empty bed. “If you so much as make a single noise tonight, you’re sleeping outside.”

“Understood.”

Dean woke sometime after three in the morning from a dream that a normal person would probably qualify as a nightmare. He looked over to Constantine, who looked rather peaceful on the couch. Then his eyes found Cas and he had to look away.

When it became clear that he wouldn’t fall asleep again any time soon, he got up as quietly as possible and fetched a laptop from the table. Something had been in the back of his mind, bothering him ever since Chas had mentioned it.

Newcastle, he knew, was a city in England. That is, if Chas had meant Newcastle upon Tyne. Because Dean found that there were several Newcastles all over the place. He wouldn’t find anything here. 

So he typed another word into the search bar: _Ravenscar_.

And he clicked on the first link that came up. It took the page a couple seconds to load but then the headline appeared and Dean stared at it for a whole of ten seconds.

_Ravenscar Secure Facility: Mental Asylum shut down to be turned into a Hotel_

If the fact that Constantine had been admitted into a mental asylum hadn’t distracted Dean, he was sure he would have laughed at the stupidity that was turning an asylum into a hotel.

But then Dean remembered that Chas had said, Constantine was punishing himself. Glancing over at the exorcist asleep on the couch, Dean would have bet that Constantine had admitted himself into Ravenscar.

And that made John Constantine’s mental stability rather questionable.


	7. We Don't Fight Fair

The next morning began rather abruptly for Dean, when suddenly something landed on his face. Until he realized that it was his own shirt, he had already pulled the gun from under his pillow and pointed it into the general direction of where he’d heard a noise.

Constantine held up both hands in surrender and his expression was one of fake shock. “Whoa, not a morning person, I see.”

“Shut your face, Hellblazer!”

“And touchy on that subject…”

Dean had to hold himself back, otherwise he would have yelled at the other man. Instead he groaned in annoyance and fell back down on his pillow, the gun still in hand. “What time is it?”

“Way too late. Like, two in the afternoon, I think.”

Dean opened his eyes abruptly. “What?” He sat up and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Constantine was telling the truth. How the hell did he sleep this long? He never managed  more than a couple hours at the most and now this?

“I just wanted to suggest we get going. I mean, I can go alone. You don’t have to come along.”

“No, no.” Dean protested. “It’s fine, I’m coming. Just give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll be outside for a smoke, then.”

Dean waited until he heard the door close before he moved out of bed. He sat there on the edge for a couple seconds wondering what could be the reason why he could suddenly sleep so well. He contemplated whether Constantine had had something to do with it. After all, the guy had told him he could do some sort of mind control. But Dean shook his head to get rid of that thought. He didn’t want to doubt the exorcist’s intentions. Not now. He needed his help right now, whether he liked it or not. He caught himself wishing that Sam would be here to help him decide what to do but he quickly realized that he wouldn’t even know where to start explaining to Sam what was going on with him.

To sum things up, John Constantine was a mystery and on top of it irritating as fuck. And Dean was not about to have that conversation with Sam of all people.

He quickly got up, went into the bathroom to wash up and change his shirt. When he stepped back into the room, his eyes fell on Cas’ motionless body. His worry bubbled up again but he pushed those feelings aside.

Dean gathered up his things, put the gun in the back of his jeans and grabbed the room keys. He opened the door and called out to Constantine. The magician extinguished his cigarette on the wall of the motel and came over to Dean.

“What about Cas? Have you taken care of that already?” Dean nodded towards the door that he still held open.

“What? Oh, that.” Constantine scratched the back of his head. “No. And I am not going to.” He seemed downright embarrassed, if Dean read him right.

“Why not?” He asked slowly.

“I don’t have to. A spell like that doesn’t wear off.” Now Constantine was actively avoiding looking at Dean.

“Are you fucking with me right now? You said, you lied. You said, it would wear off!”

“Yes, but that was the real lie.” Constantine shrugged. “Let me assure you, he’ll be fine and I don’t have to renew the spell.”

“Why would you lie, if you told the truth in the first place? Why did you want to stay here for the night, then? I want answers, Constantine, real ones! Or I swear to whoever is listening up there that this is the last fucking time I’ll talk to you.”

Constantine flexed his hands at his side and took a deep breath before answering. “I was worried the soul sucker could come find you. We used your energy, the energy of the Mark to power the spell, meaning the demon could possibly have tracked that energy to its source. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t want you to be alone, alright? There, I said it. Happy?”

Dean didn’t know what to make of this. Did Constantine really just admit that he cared? That didn’t suit him at all. Hadn’t Cas said, the man only cared about saving himself?

Dean ran a hand through his hair and pulled the door of the room closed. “Far from it.” He replied. “But it’ll have to do. From now on you stop lying to me, got it?” Constantine remained silent. “Have I made myself clear?!” Dean asked more forcefully.

“Clear as day, mate.”

“I ain’t your mate.”

The two men made their way through the city. Constantine seemed to know where he was going and Dean didn’t care to be honest. He was still pissed and he could have given less of a crap, whether they would get lost or not.

He still wanted more answers than he knew he’d ever get from the exorcist and they burned on his tongue the entire time. Eventually he gave up, though. He couldn’t avoid asking forever. After about half an hour, Dean was the first to say a word.

“What happened in Newcastle?”

He was walking down the busy street, his hands clenched tightly in his pockets. Constantine was walking right next to him, seemingly barely bothered by the cold wind. He had been just about to light a cigarette, when Dean spoke. Now he let the cigarette slide back into the pack and let it disappear into his coat pocket again. Then he looked up at Dean with a controlled expression but Dean could tell he was hiding another emotion behind it.

“How do you know about Newcastle? Did Chas tell you?”

“Does it matter? What happened there?”

Constantine glared at him. “Does it matter?” His voice was harsh and he stared straight ahead, avoiding the look on Dean’s face.

“Why do you always have to be so secretive? Can’t you just let someone in for a change?”

Constantine stopped walking. “That someone s’posed to be you?” He asked and raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that? You don’t even like me, you make that quite clear.”

“Just yesterday you were so sure that you were my second favorite person, I recall.” Dean mocked.

Constantine grimaced and looked away once again. Then with a shake of his head he continued walking into an entirely different direction than before. Dean wondered, if maybe he had gone too far. He shouldn’t have pushed the exorcist like that. Shouldn’t have stuck his nose into things that were none of his business, even though he wished Constantine would open up for once.

He hurried to follow Constantine, an apology already on his tongue. “John, wait!”The blonde stopped dead in his tracks and Dean caught up with him.

“Did you just call me John?”

“Yeah…” Dean said slowly, somewhat uncertain. “Should I not call you John?”

“Most people don’t.”

Dean grinned. “So, I don’t qualify as ‘most people’?” He asked and repeated the same question Constantine had asked him two days ago.

And Constantine returned his smug smile. “No, _Dean_. I suppose you don’t. What does that say about you?”

“Alright, alright. Let’s not go there. This is already weird enough.” He clapped Constantine’s shoulder and together they continued walking. “Sorry I was so pushy about Newcastle. I won’t bring it up again.” Constantine just nodded in response. “So, where exactly are we going?”

“To find the soul sucker, of course.”

“You know where it is?!”

Constantine nodded. “Got a pretty good look at it, too. Right before it noticed us watching it.”

“So, it wasn’t for nothing after all.” Dean said quietly and more to himself than to Constantine. Then he sighed. “You realize, though, that I won’t be of any help putting it down, right? I can’t perform that exorcism. I prefer shotguns to magic.”

“And I prefer wits to magic.”

“So, you have a plan?”

“Do I?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that because it makes me feel a whole lot safer.” Dean said with a determined expression and Constantine showed a smile that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Don’t worry. We are not here to fight. I just want to take a proper look around his abode.”

“What if the man of the house is home, though? You really don’t want to run into him entirely unprepared.”

“I’m not _entirely_ unprepared. And besides, I have you with me, don’t I?” After a pause he added. “We won’t run into the soul sucker. Chas is taking care of it. He’s gonna cause a distraction on the other side of town.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Chas?”

“Yes, Chas.”

When Constantine didn’t elaborate, Dean gave up asking. For the next five minutes at least. “Who’s Chas to you, anyways?”

“An old friend. Someone who puts up with the shite I do and endangers himself on my behalf. That just shows his poor taste in friends. I don’t think I’ve ever given him a reason to trust me but still he looks out for me.”

Dean immediately thought of Sam but then realized their relationship was different. They were brothers and it was their job to look out for each other. John’s friendship with Chandler seemed different. Dean guessed there was some sort of backstory to it all. A reason why Chandler chose to help John.

They walked through busy streets in silence until they reached a less crowded warehouse district. Dean wondered why they hadn’t just taken the subway instead of walking all the way over here but he wasn’t about to ask Constantine because he knew all he’d get would be a smartass answer. Suddenly Constantine stopped walking and Dean just about stopped himself before he walked straight into him. “I think, this is it.” The exorcist looked around and nodded. “Yeah, this is where I saw it.”

Dean spun around once and then frowned. “What? You saw warehouses and abandoned construction sites?”

“No, I saw old factory premises. Right about there.” Constantine pointed behind Dean and Dean turned to take a look but his frown only deepened.

“I don’t know, if I’m missing something here but there is _no_ factory.” Dean pointed out because really, in front of him only lay a vast field surrounded by a fence with signs that warned the public of possible danger. Scattered across the field were leftover parts of torn-down buildings that looked like they were about to cave in. Not exactly inviting. And in no way resembling a factory.

Constantine stepped closer to the fence. Dean watched him take a deep breath before he turned back to Dean with a triumphant smile on his lips. “Oh, it’s there alright.” He picked up a rusty wheel rim that leaned against the fence and with as much force as he could manage threw it over the fence like a frisbee.

Dean watched it sail through the air until all of a sudden-- “Where did it go?” The wheel rim had disappeared mid-air and was nowhere to be seen.

Constantine grinned at him and wiggled his fingers in the air. “Magic.” He stood next to Dean and held out his hands, palms facing the earth. “Five elements of the earth, I respect and invoke thee. From the six directions, converge here. Lift all concealments. Reveal thy truth.” With the last sentence Constantine turned his palms upwards and Dean could have sworn he felt something _shift_ in the air.

And sure enough, the air flickered like heat shimmers over the pavement in the summer. For a second Dean struggled to comprehend what he was seeing but then it became clear. Right in front of him a building had appeared where the empty field had been before. It definitely looked like an old factory and didn’t seem to be in use anymore.

Dean quickly closed his mouth, when he noticed that it was standing open. He glanced at Constantine who was in return eyeing him from the side. Dean gave him a questioning look. “Was that actual magic?”

“Of course, it was.”

“That was a spell? That was nothing but a fancy way to say ‘please don’t be invisible’. Hell, it was even in English.”

Constantine snorted. “Let me tell you something: It doesn’t matter what language you use, what matters is the intention and energy behind the words. You hunters could exorcise your average demons in German, if you bloody well wanted to. The demon doesn’t care, whether you use Latin or not.” When Dean gave him a disbelieving look, he continued. “I admit, using older tongues help channel power but with simple spells like the one I just used, it’s not necessary.”

“Alright, Hellblazer. Let’s just get on with it.”

“Is that an invitation?”

That made Dean hesitate but only for a second. “It most definitely isn’t.”

“A man dare dream.”

“I wouldn’t waste my time.” Dean turned his back on Constantine. “Now, come on. We don’t have all day.” His tone didn’t give away that inside his head his thoughts were screaming. Did the _fucking Hellblazer_ just make a move on _him_?

Constantine followed him to a hole in the fence and they both entered the factory through a little back door that had been easy to kick in. The first room they went into was utterly normal. Full of dust and spiderwebs, a chair that didn’t look safe to sit on. Another door however revealed a great hall with a high ceiling and filled with all sorts of furniture. Couches, bookshelves, tables covered in devices that looked like they belonged into a laboratory.

“This place is definitely creepy.” Dean commented as Constantine picked up something that looked like a human bone covered in carvings and probably blood judging by the color. He dropped it only seconds later.

“This is all very dark magic. Dark objects. They are used to summon much worse than a soul sucker.” He looked around and took in all the markings on the floor, the tables and the walls. “I hate to say it but I’m afraid that demon is trying to bring something even worse into this world.”

“Great. Just what we needed. More problems.”

“If it’s any consolation, it doesn’t look like he has been very successful.”

Dean bit his lip. “But it will be, if we don’t stop it soon, right?”

He didn’t get an answer. Constantine had apparently found something. It was a book, old and heavy and bound in leather. “Would you look at this…” He whistled quietly. “I know a couple of gents who would do literally anything to get their hands on this book.”

“What is it?” Dean stepped closer and looked over Constantine’s shoulder.

“It was written by  one of the lesser known prophets. He was never included in works like the bible because all he ever wrote about was Hell and its inhabitants. Not his fault God decided to send him visions of the Morningstar.” He noticed that Dean wasn’t quite following and sighed. “Let’s just say, this book is a do-it-yourself guide to free the nastiest things out of the depth of Hell.”

“That sounds like trouble to me.”

“It is.” Constantine confirmed. “And I don’t even want to know how this demon got his hands on it. The Rising Darkness apparently has his effects all over the place. I say, we better take this with us. If it’s not of any help to us, then at least it will slow the souls sucker down.”

Dean hesitantly agreed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in proximity of this book but he trusted that Constantine knew what he was doing. When it came to magic, he really seemed to know more than Dean ever did. “Just one question. Isn’t the soul sucker going to notice that someone took the book?”

“Fair point.” Constantine admitted as he held the book in his arms. “I’m willing to risk that, though, seeing as he already knows that we’re after him.”

“What if he finds a new hiding place now that we’ve discovered this one?” Dean pointed out.

“I don’t think finding him will be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Because I presume he’ll want this back. And I dare say that the two of us know how to make deals with demons.” He grinned at Dean. “Trust me on this. Now, come on. We should get out of here. Chas won’t be able to distract him forever.”

* * *

About half an hour later they had reached the hotel Constantine stayed at and Dean waited outside as Constantine brought the book upstairs and hid it carefully. As Dean waited suddenly a large hand touched his shoulder. He spun around ready to defend himself, when he was faced with Chas.

“Hold your fire, I just want to say hello.”

“Sorry, Chandler, you just surprised me.” Dean said, ignoring the buzz of adrenaline in his veins. Chas looked exactly like the last two times he had seen him. Still wearing his cap. Still wearing a slightly grim expression.

“John inside?” He nodded towards the hotel.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, he should be down here any second, though. He just wanted to drop something off. We were about to get something for dinner. Are you joining us?”

“No. I think I’ll go home to my kid. I promised to spend time with her. Besides, I had a rather eventful day already, I don’t need to spend time with John right now.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Yeah, he is a magnet for trouble, I imagine.”

“Talking about me?” Constantine had stepped through the entrance of the hotel and joined them on the sidewalk. He gave Chas a pat on the back. “Alright, mate? How did it go?”

“Just great. I burnt myself with your stupid zippo a couple times. That thing is broken, I'm telling you. But otherwise I’d say it worked.”

Constantine showed a lopsided grin. “My zippo works perfectly. I want it back, by the way.” Chas pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it to John. “Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll be off, then. Don’t call me tomorrow, I don’t need to get into any more trouble with Renée.” Chas waved a goodbye before sticking his hands into his pockets and making his way through the crowd on the sidewalk until they couldn’t see his hulking figure anymore.

“What did you tell him to do to distract the soul sucker?” Dean asked wondering what he had needed Constantine’s lighter for.

Constantine reached for his cigarette pack and pulled one out with his teeth before lighting it with the zippo, which, like Dean noticed, worked fine. “I prepared certain kinds of hex bags. They’re only activated after being lit on fire and then work as a spell. I had Chas light them all over the city to draw the demon in. The soul sucker probably thought there was someone trying to make a crossroads deal and followed wherever the summoning led him.”

“Hm. Did you know for sure it would work?”

“No. Not for sure.”

Dean sighed quietly. “So, you risked Chandler’s life and probably ours as well.”

“Nah,” Constantine insisted. “Chas has certain survival skills. He wouldn’t have died. And us two, well, we would’ve managed somehow, I s’pose.”

“If you say so…” Dean wasn’t convinced but he let it go.

Fifteen minutes later they had found a little diner at a street corner that wasn't too crowded. All these people were driving Dean nuts. He preferred the quiet of the bunker or the sound of the Impala to the city noise. It was too loud for his liking.

They ordered food, Dean went for a burger, whereas Constantine decided on a steak and salad. The exorcist was about to pull another cigarette from his pack, when the man behind the counter gave him a disapproving look and pointed to a ‘no smoking’ sign on the wall. That earned him an eyeroll from Constantine.

They stepped out of the diner for a couple minutes, so Constantine could smoke while they waited for their food to arrive. Dean tagged along, so he could enjoy a little fresh air.

“Who came up with this? No smoking inside restaurants. God forbid, I enjoy a fag while I contribute to the economy.” Constantine mumbled as he let the package of Silk Cuts slide back into his pocket. Dean had noticed that it seemed to be the only brand the magician liked to smoke.

As Constantine took a drag on the cigarette and blew out the smoke through his mouth, Dean let his eyes wander and they landed on two guys, just barely older than teenagers. They stood near a telephone box that was covered in graffiti and Dean doubted that it was still in use. At least not for making phone calls.

“I desperately hope that I don’t look as shady as those two over there.” Constantine said and nodded in their direction. “I mean, their whole demeanour is screaming bloody criminal.”

Dean scoffed. “Do you think they’re selling drugs?” He asked just when he saw one of them handing money to the other one.

“I’d say, yeah, they are.” Constantine said with a smile. “Now, us proper citizens can’t let them do that, can we?”

He started walking towards the two men and Dean barely had any time to react before Constantine had already made it halfway across the street. He caught up with him, when they were only a couple meters away from the drug deal going down and Dean grabbed Constantine’s arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to teach them a lesson.”

That was when one of the other men realized Dean and John were already way too close for his liking and he alerted his friend, pulling out a knife, no, a razor blade. “Both of you grandpas better make yourselves scarce or we’ll be forced to do this the hard way.” His companion pulled out a similar blade as if to enforce the message.

Dean slowly reached for his gun in the back of his jeans. Constantine on the other hand only raised an eyebrow, entirely unfazed.  “Now, if I really was your grandpa, then what I did with your mother last night would qualify as incest.” His voice was dripping with fake concern.

“You dare say that again?” The man raised his blade higher and pointed it towards Constantine’s face. Dean could have punched the exorcist for acting so utterly stupid. What good would it do to provoke them? When Constantine remained silent, though, the man grew angry. “I’m gonna cut you!”

“I’m thinking not, actually.” Constantine replied slowly and blew some cigarette into the man’s face. “What I’m thinking, Carlos, is the first time you picked up a blade was in your mum’s kitchen ‘cause you were too scared to leave the house without it.” He took half a step forward, looking right into Carlos’ eyes. “Then I think someone gave you a bitchslap for your mobile phone and you had a choice-- pee your pants or shiv him.”

Constantine’s voice had gotten lower and Dean couldn’t see his face but the man named Carlos looked at Constantine with a half scared, half confused expression. What the hell was Constantine doing? What was he thinking talking like this?

“And in your dreams you still feel that judder as it bounced off his rib and you wake up crying.”

“What are you waiting for?! Stab him!” The other guy yelled but Carlos just stood there with his blade in hand and a panicked look on his face.

“You stab him! I can’t move, bro.”

Constantine smirked dangerously. “Thing about a blade is that you start to depend on it. You think it’s yours but it isn’t. You belong to it. That’s okay, I understand nasty little habits just as much as the next guy but sooner or later they come back to _haunt_ you.”

Dean watched it all silently from behind Constantine. He wasn’t sure what the magician was doing to these men but he was definitely doing something and it was scary and mesmerizing to watch at the same time.

When Constantine continued speaking, the man named Carlos slowly turned towards his friend, his blade getting closer and closer to him. “They haunt you like the voices of the kids you killed.”

With shaking hands the other man mimicked Carlos motions and there they stood, blades pointed at each other’s faces. The blades inched closer to skin until both men had to open their mouths to avoid being cut. And that’s where it stopped, both of them standing there with a razor-sharp blade in their mouths, not capable of moving them anywhere else. They were both shaking but at the same time trying not to move. Sweat was covering their foreheads and their eyes were filled with panic as they tried to understand what was happening to them.

Constantine flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. “Good lads. Now stay there for an hour. Try not to sneeze or you might have a nasty accident.”

He turned and took Dean’s arm to drag him along as he walked away from the scene. Dean let himself be pulled away. His thoughts were racing. He couldn't decide what to make of what he’d just witnessed.

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck you just did?” Dean asked finally, when they reached the door of the diner again. Constantine pushed him through the door and towards their table. “Hey, I asked you something.”

“Alright, calm down. I only taught them a lesson.”

“A lesson? A lesson in what?”

“I taught them to be afraid.”

Dean frowned. “And was that really necessary?”

“Yes.”

Dean blinked a couple times. Was he being serious? He opened his mouth to question the magician further but in that moment their food arrived.

“Thanks, luv.” Constantine winked at the waitress who visibly blushed before pushing a strand of her hair behind one ear and walking away. Dean shook his head in confusion. How could this guy go from downright scary to flirty Englishman in a matter of minutes?

He watched Constantine as he picked some salad off his plate, inspecting it closely before eating it. “Hm, should’ve ordered chips with this.”

“How’d you do it?” Dean questioned.

Constantine put his fork down and looked up at Dean. “You want to know how I got those two out there to do everything I wanted them to do?” He paused and sighed. “Not all of that is mind control, if that’s what you’re thinking. What I told Carlos about his past was true. He feels so guilty about it that he practically sends waves of it into his surroundings. I picked up on those and played with his guilt.”

“So, you read his mind?”

“It’s not-- I didn't read his mind. I just amplified the feeling he already had and then made him turn on his friend. Now they both know that they’re not the scariest thing out there.” Constantine looked right into Dean’s eyes and Dean had to look away from the piercing blue.

"Mind control is bad form, you know."

Constantine laughed. "You aren't the one that should teach me about what is good form. I'd bet my life that you've conned people more often than you like to admit. It's not in the job description to fight fair."

Dean grimaced but he had to admit that it was true. Because yeah, he'd even faked his own death once, there was that. He quickly came back to the actual subject. “What good does it that they now are afraid of the dark?” Dean asked more quietly and picked up a couple fries from his plate.

Constantine shrugged. “Guys like those are bound to run into trouble sooner or later. They have made it their profession to make deals and they would most likely end up making a deal in the future that they can’t back out of.” Dean looked up at the exorcist but Constantine was looking outside the window into the dark of the city. “Who knows, I might have saved their sorry arses from hell by teaching them to be more careful.”

“Yeah, who knows.” Dean agreed. They were quiet after that, eating their food, only listening to the music playing in the diner.

When he was done eating, Dean leaned back in his chair and inspected Constantine more closely, his trench coat that looked like it had gone through some rough stuff, his tie that was too loose to look professional, and his face with his eyes that seemed so much older than the man himself.

“You know, John, they say you always meet twice in life. Those guys out there-- at some point all that shit is going to come back at you.”

“Don’t I know it.” Constantine uttered. There was more behind that sentence. Guilt and hurt, shame and knowledge.

“Am I ever gonna hear that story?”

“Probably not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this took forever, I know but let me know what you think, please. Comments help me a lot and make me very happy. I'm am open to criticism as well, so please voice your opinion.
> 
> I have used a scene from Hellblazer: City Of Demons. Some lines and the entire inspiration are taken directly from that comic. All rights belong to their respective owners.


	8. Black and Poisonous

In hindsight, Dean regretted making the detour of walking Constantine back to his hotel. Not that he didn’t enjoy having an actual conversation with the guy. It was quite nice, however unexpected. They figured out that their taste in music differed immensely but Dean could appreciate the other man’s passion for punk rock to a certain level. God knows, Dean had some guilty pleasures himself.

So, all in all, the walk through the city was enjoyable, if it hadn’t been for Constantine suddenly stopping dead in his tracks, when they were only a couple of blocks away from the hotel.

Dean stopped walking, a frown on his face. “What’s going on?”

Constantine stared straight ahead at Dean but he looked right through him, his thoughts someplace far away, so it seemed.

“Hey!” Dean snapped his fingers in front of Constantine’s face. “Are you listening? What is happening?”

“Someone just walked over my grave.” Constantine said, his voice low and Dean was taken aback by the sudden change in demeanour. It was like someone had flipped a switch. All of a sudden, the exorcist seemed highly alert and tense where before he had been the most relaxed Dean had ever seen him.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone is scrying for me and they broke my protection spells. This is bad. This is really bloody bad.” He ran both hands through his hair and spun around, looking for a way out, mumbling under his breath. “No, no, no, no.”

Dean felt panic twinge inside of him. _Nothing scares John_. Well, this apparently did scare him to the point where he gave up his usual witty comebacks and sarcasm.

Constantine stopped spinning, spat out a loud curse and then grabbed Dean’s arm. “Run!” It happened way too fast for Dean to react properly, so he staggered as Constantine pulled him along. “Run, for fuck’s sake!” Finally Dean’s legs registered what his brain wanted them to do and he followed closely behind Constantine as they ran back into the direction the had come from.

He felt it. Someone-- no, some _thing_ was chasing them. He could hear it behind them, coming closer. Heard it breathing, heard heavy footsteps pounding on the pavement. Too many footsteps for it to be a single pursuer. Dean risked a glance over his shoulder as they turned a corner but there was nothing to see.

“Constantine?” His voice was breathless as he yelled the other one’s name. “What’s chasing us?”

The exorcist didn’t bother to turn to Dean. He just kept on running but fumbled to get something out of his pocket.

“John?! _What’s chasing us?_ ”

Constantine skidded to a halt, his lighter triumphantly in one hand, and Dean pretty much ran into him. “Take a wild guess!” Constantine yelled back, slightly annoyed.

And then it dawned on Dean. They were Hellhounds. As in several Hellhounds. And him and Constantine had no way to outrun them. No trap, no nothing. In other words, they were totally screwed.

“Shit.” Dean breathed out.

“Very eloquent.” John said and pushed Dean aside. “Now get behind me. Don’t move.”

The commanding tone of his voice bothered Dean but he did what was asked of him, seeing as he wasn’t particularly fond of being mauled to death by a Hellhound. Again.

He heard them approach, their panting and their steps grew louder and although he knew he wouldn’t be able to see them, his eyes scanned the alley frantically. Constantine seemed relatively calm considering the situation they were in but Dean guessed the exorcist was only pretending to be unfazed. He could see Constantine’s hand that held the lighter shake slightly as he raised it higher. His other hand was slowly reaching behind him, searching blindly for Dean’s arm. When he found it, he gave it a tight squeeze and Dean didn’t know how but he knew exactly what Constantine meant: be ready.

But Dean hadn’t been prepared for what was going to happen as Constantine flipped open his lighter. Instead of the usual little flame the lighter produced something resembling a wildfire. It engulfed both of them and Dean felt the heat of it burn on his skin. The smell made Dean nauseous, the sulfur burning in his lungs.

He held on to Constantine’s arm, fearing the Hellfire would burn him as soon as he let go. Because that’s what it should have done, burn him. The flames touched his skin and clothes but he didn’t catch on fire. Constantine seemed to have the huge flame under control, keeping it from burning either of them. It unnerved him, anyways.

Then Dean heard the howls. The Hounds were somewhere outside this giant flame. And they sounded like they were in pain. Were they burning? Had Constantine managed to burn them with his fire?

The flame disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared and for a few seconds Dean struggled to see in the darkness of the alley. Constantine’s hand on his arm suddenly started pulling him along again.

“Come on, run!” He sounded out of breath, Dean noticed as he hurried to keep up with Constantine. “They won’t stay down forever.”

“Can we even outrun them?”

“With a little luck, we actually might.” Constantine replied, slightly out of breath as they turned the next corner. His answer was then followed by a short cry of surprise that was probably meant to warn Dean but Dean had no means of reacting before he was tackled to the ground with such force that he hit his head on the concrete.

One of the Hounds was right on top of him, crushing Dean under his weight. All his brain registered for a couple seconds was white, hot pain as the bones in his right shoulder broke. He suppressed a yelp of pain and prepared for the teeth of the beast to sink into the back of his neck.

But they didn’t. And suddenly the weight on top of him was gone. Instinctively, even though it hurt like a bitch, he started robbing forward, out of the Hound’s reach. He reached the brick wall at the side of the alley and pulled himself up halfway into a sitting position. That’s when he saw what had happened to the Hellhound.

It was burning at Constantine’s feet. Dean could make out the outlines of the huge body as the flames engulfed it. Constantine stood right next to it, his hand outstretched towards the Hound, shaking from the strain of working the magic.

The magician turned to Dean, his face was unreadable. “Can you make it to the main street? I need you to hail us a cab.”

Dean looked down the alley to where he could see the lights of passing cars. It was only a couple hundred meters. He nodded with his lips pressed together tightly. Ignoring his aching shoulder he pulled himself up further until he stood. “What about you?”

“I’ll hold them off. As soon as you got the cab, you call for me. Got it?”

“I got it.”

Dean turned and hurried down the alley, one hand on his broken shoulder. He didn’t dare look back until he had reached the end of the alley. Only then, he glanced over his shoulder. All he could see in the dark was the fire. It was everywhere. Dean couldn't make out Constantine’s figure anymore and for a second he thought about running back to pull the exorcist out of that inferno. But he knew he couldn’t do anything to help him. Constantine would know how to handle himself surely. He shouldn’t worry.

Dean stumbled out onto the sidewalk. People quickly jumped out of his way and then hurried to quickly get away. He knew what he must look like. His head was bleeding from where he’d hit it on the concrete and he generally looked like he had just been in a gang fight. With his luck no cab would take him.

He waved at the passing cabs in the street, desperately trying to get one of them to pull over. After at least four of them straight out ignored him, a fifth one hit the brakes immediately and skidded to a halt right next to Dean.

Dean pulled open the door of the backseat with his healthy arm. “Can you take two people to the Bronx as fast as possible?”

The driver was young, almost still a teen. And a grin showed on his face at the request. “Fast is good. I can do fast.”

“Thank you.” Dean breathed out and then turned towards the alley he’d come through. “ _Constantine!_ ”

For a few heart-stopping seconds nothing happened.

Then Constantine came out of the alleyway, half running, half stumbling. Dean slid into the cab and made room for Constantine to follow.

“Step on it, mate! Go!” Constantine yelled at the cabbie, who did what he was told. The tires screeched as the car started rolling again, just as Constantine pulled the car door closed.

“So, where in the Bronx?” The question from the cabbie sounded almost casual. “And how serious do you take red traffic lights?”

Constantine raised an eyebrow, first looking at Dean, then meeting the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “As long as we’re still alive upon arrival, I’m fine with breaking a couple rules. You Americans drive like lunatics anyways.” He leaned back in the seat and some of the tension seemed to finally leave him. “And the destination is the Pelham Garden Motel, if you know where that is.”

Dean watched Constantine from the side. The exorcist had closed his eyes, his head resting on the back of the seat. “Are you alright?”

Constantine snorted. “Oh, I’m just peachy. You on the other hand don’t look so good.”

“I’ll be fine.” Dean said grimly. He hesitated before asking, his voice low, “Are they gonna follow us? Are we safe?”

Constantine shook his head. “We’re not safe. I only killed one. The rest of ‘em will heal and they’ll keep hunting me.”

“How did they find us?”

“Isn’t that obvious? The soul sucker managed to track the source of the magic I worked back to me and he broke all my protection spells. I thought they would track you as the source of power and not me. Guess I was wrong.” Constantine opened his eyes and stared straight ahead through the windshield. “I’ll have to renew my protection spells. And this time they have to be stronger.” He turned to Dean. “The demon will want the book back. It’s not safe for you to be around me until I have myself shielded again. I shouldn’t come to the Bronx with you.”

“No, hold on a minute.” Dean said and held up his hand. He moved his shoulder in the process which wasn’t the best idea. He gritted his teeth at the pain and had to take a breath before continuing. “You are the only one who actually has a chance against the Hellhounds. If I’m attacked on my own, I’ll bite the dust. You just saved my life twice back there. So, I’m not letting you go saunter off on your own now.”

Constantine didn’t look at him anymore. He looked out of the window instead that was now blurry for it had started pouring outside. “Shit!” He cursed quietly. “Alright, fine. But I’ll start with the protection spells now. Don’t interrupt me, a’right?”

“Okay.” Dean swallowed and watched as the magician leaned back again and closed his eyes once more. Seconds later he started to move his lips. he was whispering things, none of which Dean could understand. Every now and then Constantine would make a movement with his hands, touching his own forehead or his chest over his heart.

Dean just sat there and watched Constantine as their cabbie raced them through the city.

* * *

They arrived at the motel and Constantine groggily sat up in the seat. He didn't look at Dean, when he asked him whether he was alright or not. Instead he fished a couple of bills out of his pocket and tried to pay their driver. The cabbie, however, insisted on not charging them for the ride, claiming that they might need the money for the hospital bill. He glanced at Dean and the way he carefully held his arm still at that remark.

They climbed out of the taxi and Constantine had his hand on the small of Dean’s back as they walked, guiding him towards the door of their room. He picked the key from the depth of Dean’s jacket pocket somewhere and opened the door.

Dean mumbled his thanks before making his way over to the free bed, sitting down on it and trying to avoid looking at Cas on the other bed, fearing guilt would wash over him at the sight of him lying there. Carefully he lay down, holding his right arm close to his chest and let out a long breath.

“Is one quiet night really too much to ask for?”

He heard Constantine fall down on the couch. “In your line of business you really shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yeah, well, Hellhounds are not something I have to face every day. And I wish it would stay that way.”

“We can’t all have what we want.” Constantine said with a strained laugh. From the corner of his eye Dean could see the exorcist pick his cigarettes out from his coat along with his lighter. He pulled a cigarette out with his teeth and lit it, taking a deep drag before blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling.

“Those things will kill you.”

“Trust me, I know, mate. But the chances are, something else will get to me first.”

Suddenly Dean’s phone buzzed. He reached for it but groaned, when pain seared through his arm. “Bad idea.”

Constantine took the cigarette out of his mouth, stood up and came over to him. With his free hand he reached into Dean’s jeans pocket and pulled out the buzzing phone, answered it and then held it to Dean’s ear.

Dean gave him a weird look but Constantine simply stood there, expectantly looking back at him and continuing to smoke. Dean sighed, then cleared his throat and asked, “Hello?”

“Dean.”

“Sam?” Dean immediately held on to the phone himself, pushing Constantine’s arm away. “Sam, where are you? What happened?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Everything’s okay. Crowley held up his end of the bargain so far. We’ve got Metatron.”

Dean blinked in surprise. “You what? How? I mean-- wow, that’s great.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Angels are still chasing after us. We’re on our way to the bunker. I don’t know where else we can safely hold him captive.” Sam sighed quietly on the other end of the line. “How are you holding up? What has happened since I left?”

“Well, we figured we should continue to hunt the soul sucker, so that’s what we did.”

“We?”

Dean looked up at the exorcist standing beside him. “Yeah, me and Constantine.”

Sam choked on a laugh. “And how is that going for you? Are you at each other’s throats, yet?”

“Shut up, Sam. We are as civilized as we could be. Well, I am. He’s still an ass.”

Constantine showed an amused smile at that and gave Dean the finger. He took the cigarette stump from his mouth and squished it into the already full ashtray. “So? Is Metatron talking?”

Dean repeated the question to Sam who answered in the negative. “We haven’t really began questioning him, yet, but he doesn’t seem to be very cooperative. Crowley says, he’s gonna get it out of him eventually. I don’t know what to think about his enthusiasm regarding torture.”

“Are you letting him into the bunker?” Dean asked incredulously.

“I’ve been asking myself that for the past three hours.” Sam sighed again. “I don’t think I have another choice. Without help I won’t get anything out of Metatron and even if I did, I have no idea how to find Cas’ grace. What if he’s hidden it on the bottom of the ocean? Without Crowley we have no way of getting it back.”

Dean stayed quiet for a moment. “Do what you have to do. You know which sigil to break to let him in?”

“Yeah, I do.” Sam made a reluctant pause. “Are you coming back to the bunker any time soon?”

Dean hesitated. He looked up at Constantine as if he was looking for an answer. They had to find that bastard of a demon first. If Dean left now, who knew what trouble Constantine would run into.

“I will be back soon. We need to finish working this case, though, Sammy. We almost got the son of a bitch. We can’t stop now.”

“That’s alright, Dean, I get it. Just… just don’t forget about Cas.”

That struck Dean hard. He hadn’t forgotten. How could Sam think he’d forget? “I haven’t.” Dean said harshly. “He’s fine for the time being. Constantine took care of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll explain it some other time. Listen, Sam, I gotta go. We’ll talk tomorrow. Be careful around Crowley and Metatron.” Dean knew his annoyance was obvious but he didn’t care. He was tired and hurting and Sam had pissed him off with his comment about Cas. Without waiting for Sam’s answer Dean hung up.

Constantine raised his eyebrows at him. “What was that?”

Dean just shook his head. “None of your business.”

“Fine.” Constantine said with a shrug and returned to the couch, placing his feet up on the little table.

They were quiet for approximately the next half hour. Dean sometimes drifted off to sleep for a few minutes but his arm constantly woke him up again. John had pretty much fallen asleep on the couch, his position looked uncomfortable but it didn’t seem to matter to the exorcist.

All of a sudden, though, Constantine woke up with a short yelp and sat up immediately. His eyes found Dean and he visibly relaxed.

“Everything alright?” Dean asked quietly. He couldn't really see Constantine’s face in the dim light of the little lamp on the night stand but he saw the exorcist nod.

“Bastard’s looking for me in my dreams now as well.”

“The soul sucker?”

“Yeah, him.” Constantine shook his head to wake himself up. “Probably for the best if I don’t sleep tonight.” He cracked his neck once and then looked up at Dean. “How’s your arm?”

“Hurts like a bitch but as long as I don’t move it, it’s fine.” He looked down at it. “I won’t be of any use to you like this. Can’t you fix it with you magical jiggery-pokery?”

“It’s not that easy. I don’t think I’ve ever tried fixing a bone. I wouldn't even know how.”

Dean scoffed amusedly. “You can fuck with people’s minds but you can’t fix a broken bone? That’s sad, Hellblazer.”

“Sad indeed. I should work on that. Right after I put a curse on you to prevent you from using that bloody name.”

“Get used to it. I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

After another pause Dean cleared his throat. He’d wanted to ask something but he wasn’t sure how. And then again, what he was going to ask for was the exact opposite of everything he stood for. “John?”

“Mmh?”

“You said anyone could learn how to use magic.”

Constantine turned his head to look at him and slowly raised an eyebrow. “I did.”

“Teach me.” Dean said determinedly and then quickly added, “Not like everything. Just something so I can defend myself.”

“You want to learn magic? You? To be quite honest, I would have bet that you’d be that last person to want anything to do with magic. You said so yourself, you’re a hunter not a magician.”

Dean bit his lip. Those had been his thoughts exactly. “I know. I just wish I didn’t have to feel so damn useless when it comes to cases involving magic. I would have died tonight, if you hadn’t saved me with magic.”

“Magic isn’t as fun as it might sound, Dean. If you really want to learn, there are things you need to understand, things that you need to know. Magic comes with a price and it should never be used carelessly. I know, I’m not one to talk after the last few days but believe me, if you let magic consume you, it’ll be the end of the Dean Winchester you know.”

“You seem to be doing alright with it.” Dean replied.

“Do I?” Constantine grimaced. “Who says that magic hasn’t changed me?”

Dean didn’t say anything after that. He chewed on his lip, trying to imagine a John Constantine without the bitterness, without the guilt, a John Constantine who didn’t carry any baggage from past mistakes. He found that to be very difficult. Dean just couldn’t imagine Constantine living a happy life, really. Just like he couldn’t imagine himself living that sort of life.

“Have you ever worked _any_ magic?” Constantine asked then and Dean had to shake his head. “Alright then, first and foremost, keep your nose out of the Dark Arts. Black magic is poisonous, even more so than normal magic.”

“Does this mean you are going to teach me?” Dean asked and couldn’t help but sounding hopeful at the prospect.

Constantine gave a vague nod. “I won’t teach you anything complicated. We’ll start slow and see how far you want to go.” He paused and then motioned for Dean to take a chair and sit down across from him. Dean did just that, holding his broken arm against his chest. “So, lesson number one: some magic takes a toll on you. It’s like a physical workout. The more powerful the spell, the more drained you might feel afterwards.”

Constantine put his lighter down on the table between the both of them and then reached out to take Dean’s hand. Dean hesitantly let it happen. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you an example.” Constantine held his free hand over his lighter and whispered two words Dean didn’t understand. The lighter started spinning and slowly rose into the air, where it stayed hovering a couple of inches beneath Constantine’s hand. “Do you feel that?”

Dean was about to ask what he was supposed to feel but then he realized what Constantine meant. His already sleepy eyes became harder to keep open with every second Constantine held the lighter in the air. “I think I do. Are you doing that?”

“I’m using your energy to power the spell instead of my own, so you feel the fatigue of it.” He let go of Dean’s hand and the lighter immediately dropped. Constantine caught it before it could hit the table and then put it down in front of Dean again. “You need to know that some spells might require more energy than you have to offer. Powerful spells like that could kill the magician trying to cast it. Don’t worry, I won’t teach you any of those anytime soon.” He grinned. “What you can do is use an external power source, like I just did. Another person, an animal even, but they might die as well, if you drain all their life energy, so be careful with that. As soon as you feel that a spell is draining your energy you need to stop it immediately.”

Dean just nodded. Hearing all this now made him question whether he really wanted to use magic himself. What if he fucked up somehow? What if that meant he’d accidentally kill someone?

“On the bright side of things, a lot of spells either don’t require energy or can be altered so that they don’t require it. For now, I’m only going to teach you spells that don’t drain energy.” He pointed to the lighter on the table. “You will try to lift the lighter just like I did, just with a different spell. _Vola mea voluntate_.”

“Is that latin?”

“Yes, it is. Technically all you need to do is concentrate on what you want to happen, focus and will it to happen. I was told it takes a lot of mental willpower at the beginning. I never really had that problem.” He smirked at Dean who rolled his eyes.

“Figures.”

“All I’m trying to say is, don’t get frustrated, if it doesn’t work right away. It needs practice and you need time to find your magic inside you.”

Dean nodded and picked up the lighter. The concept sounded easy but he had the feeling it wasn’t going to be anything the like. He let out a breath and tried to concentrate anyways. The fact that he was tired and still in pain didn’t really help.

He pictured the flying lighter and concentrated on the object as it lay there in the palm of his hand. He could feel Constantine watching him but he tried to push that thought out of his head. With another intake of breath, Dean spoke. “ _Vola mea voluntate_!”

Nothing happened. The lighter remained in his hand, the cold metal against his warm skin just as present as before. Even though he hadn’t really expected it to work, Dean’s shoulders slumped and he held the lighter out towards Constantine. “It was worth a try.”

Constantine shook his head. “You aren’t done. Not after the first try. Keep the lighter. Keep practising whenever you have the time. As soon as you manage to make it fly, you come to me. Don’t try and figure out more spells on your own. It could be very dangerous.”

Dean bit his lip but he let the lighter slide into the pocket of his jeans. Constantine eyed him carefully, Dean felt his eyes linger on him.

“Are you really sure about this?”

“I’m not. I don’t like magic. I never have but desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Besides, who knows, maybe I won’t be able to work magic, anyways.”

Constantine shrugged. “You will figure it out sooner or later. But it’s your decision what you do with it, really. Magic isn’t your field of work, so I’m not so sure you should pursue it. All I’m saying is that you should think about this again. Whether you really want to tap into that or not.”

“I will think about it. Thanks, though.” Dean nodded into Constantine’s direction. “For being willing to teach me.”

“No thanks needed.”

“I’m gonna try and sleep some more.” Dean got up.

“What about your arm, though. You should really have someone take a look at it, mate.”

Dean looked down at his arm that he constantly held pressed to his chest so he wouldn’t move it. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” He turned towards the bed and mumbled, “God, how I hate hospitals.” 


	9. A Little Unsteady

The next morning was surprisingly not painful as Dean had expected it to be. He carefully sat up, eyeing his arm a little suspiciously. Slowly, very slowly he lifted it up. When he didn't feel pain shoot through his shoulder, he dared to move it further, stretching his arm all the way. No pain at all. What the hell?

“Constantine?!”

The magician almost fell off the couch, startled by Dean’s loud voice.

“Bloody hell”, he grumbled. “Where's the fire?”

“Something’s wrong. My shoulder, it's healed.”

Constantine blinked a couple of times as he got used to the light streaming in through the window. “What's wrong about that? If I was you, I'd be fucking grateful.” He let his head fall back down on the cushions.

“So, it was you?”, Dean wondered. “You healed me?”

“Are you daft? Of course, I didn't. I told you I couldn't.”

“Then how--”

“Manny”, Constantine said with a sigh. “Manny healed you last night after you fell asleep.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He's an angel, mate. Who knows why they do anything?” The exorcist reached for his cigarettes, then realized he didn't have his lighter on him and threw the pack back on the table. “He said you're  _ needed _ . Servant of Heaven and all that crap.”

Dean looked at Constantine incredulously. “I thought Heaven gave up on me.”

“Maybe they don't want you as a vessel anymore but you are a valuable pawn in the fight against Hell.”

“A pawn?”, Dean frowned. “I'm not Heaven’s plaything.”

“We are  _ all  _ pawns in this game.” Constantine stood up and grabbed his coat. “But even pawns can beat the king, right?”

Dean thought about that. It was true, he had unwillingly played a pawn in Heaven’s game quite a few times. How could he be sure that he wasn't doing just that right now? It bothered him to think that the angels were once again controlling him. Albeit, Constantine was right. A pawn could beat the king. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

Even if that meant playing along with one of Constantine’s stupid metaphors.

“Where are you going?”

Constantine glanced back at him. “Following a lead. I'll be back in a bit.”

“I see. What kind of lead, if I may ask?”, Dean asked with obvious sarcasm.

Constantine got the hint, it appeared. He ran a hand through his already messy blonde hair before answering. “I traced the attack on my protection spells back to its source. I think I might have found it.”

A crease showed on Dean’s forehead as he listened. “I see. I'm not even going to ask how you did that. It hurts my head with everyone tracing shit back and forth.” 

“I promise I'll be back soon.”

With that Constantine disappeared through the door. Dean’s eyes stayed on the door for a few seconds before they roamed the room and found Cas. 

And that's where they stayed. On Cas’ dark hair and his closed eyes, his lips and the barely noticeable pulsing of a vein on his neck that was the only sign that Cas was still alive.

“Cas?”

He almost expected an answer. But of course none came.

“Cas, I don't know what to do anymore.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, squeezing them shut for a few seconds. “I find myself making decisions that I know Sam would hate, I know you would hate them, too… Hell, I hate them. But they seem to be the right thing and I--I don’t know--”

Dean bit his lip harshly. This was ridiculous. For all he knew Cas couldn’t hear him and he wouldn’t answer or offer any advice whatsoever.

“You warned me about John and I totally get why. He’s a total dick ninety per cent of the time.” He huffed out a laugh. “But Sam would say the same about me, so, can Constantine really be much worse? 

“I know I’m making excuses here. But-- without him, I’d already be dead. I may not trust him but he’s got my respect. He will save you and that’s all that counts right now… I need you, Cas. I can’t lose you.”

He sat there, his head in his hands, for at least another hour. When he moved again, his back and neck were sore from his position and he stretched both arms over his head. The sight of Cas’ still body in front of him made him close his eyes for a second.

Dean was abruptly pulled from his thoughts, when the door flew open and Constantine strode in.

“You’re back already.” 

It was more of a statement than a question but Constantine ignored it either way. He crossed the room, pulled out his duffel bag from underneath the couch and turned it over. Everything fell out and Constantine hastily rummaged through his stuff until he found a little vial. Dean couldn’t tell what it was. He was about to ask but he forgot all about it, when Constantine quickly shrugged off his coat, pulled his tie loose and then took off his shirt as well.

“Whoa, why are you stripping?”

Constantine got up from where he was kneeling and stood in front of Dean, the vial in hand. “Take off your shirt!”

“What? Why would I--”

“I said, take it off!” Constantine commanded, urgency in his voice, and he was just about to pull up Dean’s shirt himself but Dean swatted his hands away.

“Alright, alright! Hands to yourself, dude.” He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the side. “What the hell is that?”

“Blood, you genius.” Constantine mumbled as he unscrewed the lid of the small bottle. “That of an angel, to be precise.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot upwards and he was about to question that statement, when Constantine flicked open a pocket knife and without any warning made an incision on Dean’s chest, right above his heart.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Dean jumped backwards but John closed the distance between them with a single step and held on to Dean’s bicep to keep him from backing up any further.

“Hold still and shut up for once in your life, will you?” 

Dean pressed his lips together and silently watched as John made the exact same cut over his own heart, then began humming in a strange rhythm, a language Dean thought he recognized as Enochian from the little he had heard Cas say over the last few years. The magician then continued to pour the blood from the vial into his hand before tossing the empty bottle away. He pressed the palms of his hands together, spreading the blood on both hands before placing one hand on the cut on Dean’s chest, the other one on his own.

Dean felt a slight burn as the blood seeped into the cut and mixed with his own. Constantine was still chanting, faster now and Dean saw him sway, his eyes out of focus. Without thinking twice about it, Dean took Constantine’s arm to hold him upright. John’s eyes found his and Dean could have sworn he saw him smile at that.

Eventually John let his hands slide down and then lost his balance entirely. If it hadn’t been for Dean he would have crashed face first into the floor but all he did was slump forward, leaning against Dean’s chest. Naked chest to be exact.

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?”

“Yeah, after I sleep for about two years.” Constantine said but made no attempt to stand on his own two legs. He rested his head against Dean’s chest and Dean froze, unsure of whether to push him away or not.

“Are you gonna be okay? Do you need me to get you some water?” He gently lifted Constantine’s head from his chest and helped him stand on his own before guiding him to the bed.

“Whiskey would be better.”

“Really?”

“You are in no place to judge me. You drink as much as me, if not more.”

Dean grabbed the bottle from the table and pushed it into Constantine’s hands. “Wasn’t judging. I was just concerned. You constantly exhaust yourself.”

Constantine just shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Drink up and spill. What was that about?”

“Turned out my angel isn’t as loyal as yours. I’m guessing he switched teams.” Constantine said, a bitter tone to his voice, and took a swig from the bottle of whiskey.

“Your angel? Manny? The one that healed my arm out of the goodness of his heart?”

“The same one. He works with the enemy now, so that spell I just put on both of us prevents him from coming anywhere close to us. Where is my shirt, by the way? Not that I don’t appreciate the nakedness in this situation.” He winked at Dean.

Dean ignored it and tossed Constantine’s shirt at him before grabbing his own and pulling it on. “Why would he?” Dean wondered. “I mean, Manny had no reason to help me but he did. How do you know he works against us?”

“Let’s just say, he told me himself. He’s working to raise the Darkness.” 

Dean slightly tilted his head. “You mentioned that before. The Rising Darkness? What is it?”

“That’s a story for another time.”

“John?” Dean warned, urgency in his voice.

Constantine sighed and placed the bottle on top of the nightstand. “I can’t tell you because I don’t know what it is, alright. I know as much as you do. It’s coming and it’s bad, that’s about it.”

“Great.” Dean deflated. “Because we desperately need more problems.”

He reached for the bottle, because God knew he needed it. The Darkness was just another issue added to the pile that already consisted of Adam, the Mark, Cas’ grace and the soul sucker and Dean felt cornered. With every day bringing more bad news, he barely dared to hope that they’d figure it all out.

“We're going to catch him tonight.” Constantine said suddenly. “There's no use in waiting any longer. All it does is increase the risk of him finding us, when we're unprepared.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “So, you really do have a plan? You know how to put him down?”

“I have a plan, yes.”

“Care to share that exact plan with me?”

Constantine hesitated. He really seemed to hate the thought of revealing his plans, as if that would somehow foil them. “You know the plan.” Constantine said then with a shrug. “Exorcism. If possible, we'll try to keep the host alive. Simple as that.”

“I thought we'd agreed that you'd stop lying to me.” Dean said, his voice now slightly annoyed. “That's not all there is to that exorcism.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean scoffed. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I haven't the slightest.”

“Constantine!”

“Alright! What do you want to hear? That this could all go terribly wrong? That the plan is as far from foolproof as possible?” Constantine had raised his voice just like Dean had.

“No, I want you tell me the price of that exorcism. It's blood magic for fuck's sake. Cas told me what that entails. You have to bind the demon to something or someone. And so far you haven't been very detailed concerning that particular part of your plan.”

Constantine bit his lip to keep himself from yelling back. He turned away from Dean with a shake of his head. “I should have never decided to work this case with you.”

Dean scoffed. What the hell was Constantine's problem? “Why? Am I such a burden to you?”

“No, you just don't understand the way I deal with things.” John turned to face him again. “I need you to trust me that I got this under control. I will put the demon down, even if that means paying a price.”

“What I don't understand is why you won't tell me what that price is?”

Constantine sighed quietly. “Because you would never let me do what has to be done.”

Dean let those words ring in his head. And suddenly he knew. Constantine didn't plan on saving the host of the demon. He never had. He would bind the demon to its human vessel and kill them both. No hesitation.

But would Dean stop him? Asking himself that question was like walking unknown territory, Dean found. With him and Sam it had always been priority to save the innocent. He really shouldn't be questioning this now. And still, Dean found his morals caving. “As long as you can live with yourself, I won't stop you.”

“You won't?” There was obvious surprise in Constantine's voice.

“If killing that one person means saving the rest of New York, it might just be worth it.”

Constantine gave him a look that Dean couldn't interpret. It was a mixture of concern and guilt but Dean was sure to see relief in the magician's eyes. What was that about then?

Constantine nodded. “Right. It might just be worth it.”

They were quiet after that, too quiet for Dean's liking but he refused to be the first to say anything. Eventually Constantine gave up being silent. “We need to get the book from my hotel and then prepare for tonight.”

Dean just nodded, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He figured being angry with Constantine was not going to be of any help, so he decided to let it go. For now. After all, this was a one time thing. As soon as the demon was taken care of and Cas was doing better, they could go separate ways.

A tiny voice in the back of his head, however, had doubts that that was going to be the case.

Outside it was freezing cold. Dean cursed himself for not bringing a warmer jacket to New York of all places. Constantine beside him didn't seem to mind, seeing as he didn't even bother to close his coat. Dean had come to terms with Constantine being immune to the cold. He looked exhausted still and Dean wondered, whether it was really the best idea to walk into that demon’s lair with Constantine at his weakest but he decided not to question it.

The exorcist's cigarette smoke was more prominent than usual in the cold air and Dean couldn't help but breathe it in as the wind blew it into his face.

Thinking about it, he wouldn't mind a cigarette or two on the odd day but it was a pricey habit that Dean had given up long ago. Yes, Dean Winchester went through a phase of smoking anything he could find, much to his father's disapproval. That was just before Sam had left for Stanford.

As they made their way to the subway station, Dean saw some people putting up Christmas decorations, filling the windows and trees with lights and stars. Time had flown by a little faster, he felt. Holidays always seemed so insignificant, when one was constantly fighting the evils of the world.

Constantine seemed to have noticed him watching the lights being put up. “Do you and Sam even celebrate the birth of that oh-so-holy wanker?”

“Sort of. I mean, not really.” Dean searched for the right words. “Sammy and I usually spend the evening together. Nothing more. Just—a quiet evening.”

Constantine hummed in understanding. “Never been much for Christmas myself. I don't see the point in it, when your only remaining family member hates you and your friends are pretty much all dead.”

“You're wallowing in self-pity.”

“No shame in that.” Constantine replied. “At least not from time to time.”

“That's what alcohol is for.”

“Agreed.”

They reached Constantine’s hotel a few minutes later and Dean nodded to Constantine to go and get the book. He’d wait outside. It didn’t take long. As he stepped out of the entrance, Constantine held a piece of paper out to Dean.

“You’ll need this.”

It was the exorcism. Or maybe it was more precise to say spell instead of exorcism because after all this was magic. “You really think that I could do this?”

“Yes, I do.” Constantine said without hesitation.

“Well, at least one of us doesn’t have doubts about this.”

Constantine smirked. “One of has to believe that this will work.”

Dean slipped the little piece of paper into his pocket and clapped Constantine on the shoulder. “Alright, let’s get going. I want to get my car and my shotgun. There’s no way I’m walking into this fight with nothing but this exorcism.”

As they walked, Dean’s thoughts wandered and eventually found Sam. He was worried about whatever his brother was doing right about now. For all he knew, Sam was currently at the bunker with Crowley and Metatron of all people. There were so many horrible outcomes to this scenario that he hardly dared to think about it. But the thought of Sam getting hurt while he himself was off hunting with someone else kept nagging him.

He cleared his throat and it broke the silence between him and Constantine rather abruptly. “Walk me through this. We go in and search out the soul sucker. You will try getting rid of him using the spell, I’m your backup in case something goes wrong. Alright so far?”

Constantine nodded, his head slightly tilted to the side. “That’s the plan. However, I doubt that the demon will be all alone. He’s bound to have backup as well. So, we might run into lower demons on our way in.”

“Might?”

“I can’t say for sure.”

Dean sighed. “Right. And the exorcism? If I’m your backup, you’ll have to explain to me how this shit works.”

“It’s not too complicated, really. You recite the first part of the spell and it’ll paralyse the demon for a short amount of time. If you lose your focus, though, he might break free, so concentrate. Then, while he’s unable to move, you cut the symbol on the piece of paper I gave you into the skin of the soul sucker somewhere and then make a larger cut next to it that will bleed all throughout the rest of the spell. If it stops bleeding, you’ll have to start from the beginning.”

“Right.” Dean nodded along. “Not too complicated. Let’s hope it won’t be me doing this.”

“Remember what I said about magic: the intention behind the words counts. Your will has to be strong and you need to concentrate on what you’re trying to achieve with the spell.”

“Yeah, mental willpower and all that. Cas mentioned it. That’s why I don’t think I’ll get it done. I mean I couldn’t even make your stupid lighter fly.”

Constantine scoffed. “You, Dean Winchester, have more mental strength than you think. After all you have survived Hell.”

Dean didn't know an answer to that, so he just shook his head slightly and kept on walking.

“By the way, you still do have my lighter, don’t you?” Constantine wondered.

“I think so.” Dean said, patting on his pocket to check.

“Think or know?”

Dean smirked. “Is there a difference?”

Constantine pressed his lips together. “If you lose it, I swear to God…”

“Then what?”

“You’ll find out, be certain of that.”

“Is that a threat?” Dean said, his hand over his heart, feigning shock.

“No, that is a promise.” Constantine retorted. 

* * *

“So, how do we get in there unnoticed?”

Dean had parked the Impala a street away but the huge hotel complex was still hard to miss. It was easily the highest building around and it blocked the sun as it sank beneath the horizon.

“It will be crawling with demons, right?” Dean asked.

“That has never stopped you and your brother before, has it?”

“Yeah, but in case you haven’t noticed, my brother isn’t here.”

Constantine gave him a bright smile. “But I am.” He opened the door and got out of the car.

“Aren’t I glad?”, Dean grumbled and got out as well. He made his way around the car and opened the trunk. As he picked up his gun and pushed into the waistband of his jeans at his back, Constantine looked over his shoulder.

“Nice little arsenal you got there.” It sounded like praise but it could have been mockery for all Dean knew, so he ignored it.

“Since we’re going in guns blazing and all, do you want to borrow a gun, maybe?”

Constantine raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. “No, ta. Don’t think it would do me any good.”

Dean scoffed. “Do you even know how to handle a gun?”

“‘Course I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Dean laughed. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’ve never even pulled a trigger.”

“Believe what you want, Winchester.” He turned and walked away.

Dean quickly closed the trunk, shotgun in hand and holy water safely tucked away in his jacket. He was still smiling. For once, the exorcist seemed to be just as irritated as Dean constantly was in his presence. Maybe he was even a tiny bit embarrassed. And that was a win.

“Keep up, Winchester! We don’t have all night.”

“We’re back at last names, huh, Hellblazer?” Dean teased.

“Up yours,  _ Winchester _ !” 

Constantine yelled it over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for Dean. They reached a door at the side of the hotel, hidden behind a couple of dumpsters. The weathered letters on the wood suggested an old staff entrance but the chain and lock on the handle made it clear that it was out of use. Constantine tried to forcefully open the lock but it didn’t budge.

“Step aside, Mister Master of the Dark Arts, the not-so-magical hunter knows how to pick a lock.” Dean said with obvious content in his voice.

Constantine gave him a murderous glare but refused to step aside. Instead he pushed Dean a step backwards and without any warning whatsoever he kicked in the door. Dean stared at him, his jaw slightly open, although he would always deny that.

“Right. Let’s just-- hope that no one heard that.” He said, trying to hide his surprise.

“I thought we were going in guns blazing.” John smirked and made an overly enthusiastic welcoming gesture. “After you, mate.”

Dean glanced at him from the side but walked into the building, his shotgun ready. “Are we sure there aren’t any civilians in the hotel?”

“Not one hundred percent sure, so maybe check for black eyes before you shoot.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Great advice. Thanks.”

He could feel Constantine at his back, always one step behind him. It somehow unnerved him that John didn’t have a gun. If a demon were to attack, he didn’t have any means of defending himself, so Dean was responsible for them both.

With a small sigh, Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out the demon knife. He held it out to John who gave him a look of surprise.

“What?” Dean asked. “You don’t want your knife to protect yourself? Right now you’re dead meat, if a demon attacks us.”

Constantine hesitated but then took the knife from Dean, anyways.

They rounded a corner in the hallway, their steps muffled by the carpet that covered the floor, and walked into the foyer. There wasn’t a single person in sight.

“I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I, mate.” John nodded towards the stairs. “I’m saying we check upstairs, first. I somehow doubt that he chose the cellar to have his secret lair in.”

Dean agreed and they made their way upstairs, Dean always in front with his gun ready to be fired. But they didn’t encounter anyone. Reaching the third floor, Dean slowed down. “Are you sure, he’s even here? This looks like any hotel to me.”

John looked at him with a mocking expression. “Yeah, right. Because  _ any hotel _ would be entirely empty. No staff, no customers. A blind guy could see that something’s not right here.”

Dean had to admit John was right. It wasn’t just the lack of people that seemed wrong, no, there was a feeling of danger to the entire hotel and with each flight of stairs they climbed, it settled into Dean’s bones more and more.

He had just set foot onto the fourth floor, when he heard a noise behind him that definitely wasn’t Constantine. He ducked at the exact same time as the exorcist, when an axe zoomed over their heads, inches away from hitting its target. It lodged itself into the wall with a loud  _ thunk _ .

When Dean turned to face their attacker, it was already too late. One of the two demons that came up the stairs behind them was right in front of him. Dean lifted his shotgun and almost managed to pull the trigger but the gun was ripped from his hands with such force that it made him stumble and fall.

He tumbled halfway down the stairs with a yelp. He couldn’t tell where Constantine was, couldn’t see whether he had managed to fight the demon off.

“John--?!”

Dean had to catch his breath, when suddenly the second demon was standing above him, black eyes glistening with obvious glee as he kicked Dean into his side. He fell down the rest of the stairs, landing on his stomach with a groan. He reached around his back to pull out his other gun but it wasn’t there anymore, fallen out of his jeans as he had fallen down the stairs.

Dean tried robbing away, because he knew the demon was following him, coming down the stairs slowly while savouring the moment of having Dean at his mercy. Eventually he reached the wall and pulled himself up into a standing position.

The demon was only a couple meters away by now, the distance shrinking. 

He was just about to take his final steps towards Dean, when they heard a cry of pain. The body of the other demon came rolling down the stairs and landed next to Dean at the wall, the demon knife sticking out of its chest.

The remaining demon stared at his companion for several seconds, obviously shocked. But then--

“Hey, asshole!”

The demon turned only to find Constantine standing at the top of the stairs, Dean’s hand gun pointed directly at him.

A  _ bang _ followed as John pulled the trigger and the demon fell to the ground where he lay twitching and whimpering. Dean stared at it, disbelief written across his face. John had placed the bullet right between the man’s eyes.

“How did you--?” Dean shook his head. “I thought you couldn’t…”

“Never said I couldn’t, mate. Just said I don’t usually do it.” Constantine weighed the gun in his hand and came down the stairs. “What kind of bullets are these, putting a demon down like that?”

“There’s a devil’s trap carved into each one.” Dean explained, his eyes on the still twitching demon in front of him. “He can’t move or leave, for that matter.” With that, he reached for the demon knife lodged in the chest of the dead demon beside him and pulled it out, then plunged it into the heart of the other. The twitching stopped as the demon burned inside his meatsuit.

“Well, I’m sure that got the attention of a few others.” Constantine remarked and held out a hand to Dean. Dean grabbed it and pulled himself up. His gun was handed back to him and he handed over the knife. 

“Thanks.” Dean said. “You just saved me again.”

“Nah, I’m sure you would have handled yourself just fine.”

Dean nodded hesitantly. “Come on, we are probably close.”

And he was right. One floor higher they stepped into an atrium, the roof made entirely out of glass, the light of the sinking sun illuminating everything in a bright orange. There was a sort of altar placed in the middle of the room, candles scattered everywhere on the floor.

Right in front of the altar stood a man. He was maybe about Dean’s height, his hair a dark blonde and a smirk was on his lips that immediately succeeded in making Dean uneasy. The Mark on his arm burned and he could feel the adrenalin rush through his body as the Mark sang a song of  _ kill him kill him  _  in his veins.

“Well, well, there you are finally. John Constantine and Dean Winchester. I have been expecting you sooner.” The soul sucker smiled. “Have you come to bring me back what’s mine? Have you come to beg me to break all those deals I’ve made? Or are you here to stop me? Either way, I’m very intrigued, so by all means, go ahead. Can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.”

“Shoot it.” Constantine said calmly and Dean didn't even think about it before pulling the trigger. The bullet found its target, right where the heart should be. The soul sucker coughed a few times but otherwise remained unharmed.

“Really? That’s the best you can do?”

“Oh, far from it. But I thought we start this off nice and slow.” Constantine took a couple of steps closer to the altar. “I’m here to make you a deal.”

“Listening.”

“I give you back your book and you let Jameson out of his deal.”

The demon laughed. “That’s not very appealing. What do I get out of it? I could just kill you and take my book and keep the deal with Jameson. Not very convincing, John.”

“How about I throw in an angel feather?”

That had an obvious effect on the demon. “An angel feather?”

“And your book. Doesn't that sound like a good deal?” John continued to slowly  breach the distance between himself and the demon. Dean stayed where he was. He wasn’t exactly sure what Constantine was trying to do but he figured it was best not to interfere now.

“You know what I need the book for, don’t you?”

Constantine nodded. “You are raising the Darkness. Well, trying anyways. But you haven’t been very successful, have you? Don’t you think that the feather could be of help?” Now he stood right in front of the soul sucker. “It will give you power. Divine power that you are definitely lacking.”

“And all you want in exchange is the deal broken? You can’t be serious.”

Constantine chuckled. “Well, to be quite honest,” he said slowly, “I’m not.” And with that he plunged the demon knife into the soul sucker’s chest. 

The demon cried in outrage and surely a little pain but it was drowned by Constantine’s voice as he began to rapidly recite the spell, one hand outstretched towards the demon. The man froze up but Dean saw him shaking with the strain it put on him to fight Constantine’s magic.

Then he saw something else: a glint in the man’s eyes, a smile that clearly indicated superiority. The smile of someone winning.

“John?” It was meant to be a warning and John had apparently heard the unease in his voice because he slowed down, if only to glance back at Dean for a second. Dean, however, had his eyes fixed on the demon, so John turned back.

The souls sucker laughed, when Constantine suddenly stopped. It was a cold laugh. Without any actual joy. “It’s too late, John.” He cocked his head. “As soon as you start with your petty blood magic, it’ll activate my own spell. And it will make way for the Darkness. Either way,” the smile on the demon’s face grew, “I win.”

Dean heard John curse and the magician dropped his arm. When he turned to find Dean’s eyes, his own radiated defeat. They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. Dean was unsure of what to do now. They had no Plan B. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He saw Constantine worry his lip before slowly showing off a smile. It wasn’t his usual grin that made Dean feel irritated or annoyed, no, this was a smile he had never seen on Constantine’s face.

“Well then, Winchester, looks like we reached an impasse.” It was a smile that a man wore that knew what was coming for him. A smile that clearly said  _ fuck this.  _ “Get over here, Dean.”

Dean lowered his gun and hurried to Constantine’s side. “What are you doing?

“I’m doing the right thing. It’s a first for me, but hey, better late than never.” He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, grabbed the knife and pulled it from the demon’s chest. Blood welled from the wound and Constantine pressed his hand over it.

Then he began the spell anew, his eyes closed, his hands visibly shaking. Dean reached out to grab John’s arm but John swatted his arm away.

“No, John, stop! What are you doing?”

“No!” Apparently the demon had figured out just what Constantine was doing. “No!  _ No!  _ You can’t do this!”

Constantine opened his eyes and lifted his bloodied hand from the demon’s chest. “Watch me, you bastard!” He spit onto the ground; his lips were left bloody. “As you put it so nicely: it’s too late.” The demon’s eyes became distant and a second later he fell to the ground like a marionette with cut strings.

Dean’s eyes flew from the demon back to John. “Tell me! What have you done?”

“Bound him to me.” Constantine’s eye twitched.

“You  _ bound _ him to you? You’re partly possessed by him now?”

“I feel surprisingly good.”

Dean smacked Constantine’s arm, quite hard too. “What the fuck, John? What now?!”

“Well, seeing as I suck at self-exorcism, I was hoping you’d do me the honor.” His eye twitched again. “Come on, just get it over with.” When Dean didn’t react, he groaned. “Get out that bloody piece of paper before I lose my hold over him!”

Dean sucked in a breath but he did as he was told. The slip of paper in his hand, he looked up at John. “This will kill you.”

“I’m not priority here. Just get on with it.”

Dean swallowed, his mouth dry as if made out of sandpaper. “I… I can’t do this. Not to you.”

“Yes, you can.” John’s eyes found his and Dean found he couldn’t look away. “And you will do this. Because it is the right thing to do. You’re all about that, aren’t you? You didn’t want the demon’s vessel to die and now he doesn't have to.” He smiled. “Come on, you never liked me, anyways.”

“That’s--” Dean had to take another breath. “That’s not true. You are a pain in the ass but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to sacrifice you. We still need you… Cas needs you.”

“You’ll be fine.” Constantine winked. “Just promise me one thing. I know you hunters are very enthusiastic about this but please don’t burn my body. I’m not up for that.”

Dean shook his head and looked down at the spell in his hands. “Are you sure?”

“Go ahead, Dean. It’s alright.”

He cleared his throat and smoothed out the crinkles in the paper. Constantine lifted the knife to his arm and cut the sigil that belonged to the spell into his own skin. He hissed a little as the blade sliced through his lower arm but his hands were steady. Then he looked up at Dean and nodded. Slowly and careful with his pronunciation, Dean began reciting the words, just as John made a cut across his wrist. Blood began pouring out quickly and Dean tried his best to ignore it. 

He tried to recall everything Constantine had told him about magic, how it was supposed to be done, the concentration, the will to make it work. But he finished and nothing changed.

“John, I can’t. I don’t know how.” Dean bit his lip to stop himself from crying out in frustration. The whole situation had him wanting to yell. Yell at John, yell at the world, at everything that led to this shitty outcome.

John looked up at him, his face had visibly paled, maybe from the loss of blood, maybe from the demon bound to his soul. Maybe both. His breathing was shallow but when he reached out to grab Dean’s wrist, his hold on him was strong, it would probably leave a bruise.

“Whatever you will feel in a second, don’t panic.”

And it felt like electricity, heat, cold and pain at the same time. It crackled through his veins and towards his heart and he almost doubled over. With a small yelp on his lips, he squeezed his eyes shut. “John?”

Suddenly Constantine’s grip on his wrist was gone and the magician fell to the ground. He coughed a few times, a little blood coming from his mouth still. “Now, Dean! You need to try again. Hurry!”

Dean was on his knees next to Constantine. His hands were shaking, either from adrenaline or from whatever Constantine had just done to him. His voice threatened to let him down a few times but he managed to recite the spell once again, his eyes found John’s wrist every now and then to check, if it was still bleeding. And it was.

It was different this time. He felt the power behind the words he read. He felt the magic in the air, electric like before a thunderstorm. A sudden wind picked up around them, blowing out the candles everywhere.

There was a smile on John’s face. A tired smile and it was still there, when Dean read out the last word and John’s eyes closed. 

Dean dropped the paper and he held John’s face in both hands. “John?” He shook the magician’s body lightly. “ _ John! _ ” But it was in vain. There was no answer, no reaction.

John was gone.

“You idiot! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

He hit his fist into Constantine’s chest but all his strength had left him. And it took him some time until he found enough strength to get up again.


End file.
